Lady Luck
by Kimmae
Summary: Gob and Nova were trapped in the same hell hole for five years, and it took a particular set of events, and one particular stranger, to make them realize how much they needed one another.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_Yet another Fallout fic! And, alas, I've fallen pray to ghoul love. I hope you enjoy._

_Considering I feel _Lament _was relatively successful, I decided to stick to the dual first person method. I think I fare pretty well._

Lady Luck

By Kimmae

Chapter One

Always the same shit, day in, day out. Moriarty never gives me a break. I suppose I couldn't expect any less; I was bought as his slave, but Lucas Simms outlawing that sort of business wouldn't change the fact that that's how Moriarty sees me. That's how everyone sees me, probably. I'm just that sorry sop standing behind the bar, working more hours than I can count on two hands a day to try and "pay back" my room and board, which I owe now that I'm an employee, not a slave. If you thought that set up was shitty, you'd cringe to know that most of my skin has fallen off, along with my nose and most of my hair, and my eyes are glazed over, like I'm already dead. That's how I feel inside: dead. I wish I was sometimes, instead of living out my prolonged life as a ghoul. Then again, there are things in this life that make up for it. It sounds crazy, but I find parts of my day cozy, in a way. I mean, at least I have a roof over my head, and I can listen to Three Dog on Galaxy News Radio everyday, talking about fighting the Good Fight. It's like I can live my fantasies out by listening to his stories of people fighting for their right out in the Wastes. The bombs fell two hundred years ago, but life was still living out there like it was two months ago.

Anyway, it was a Tuesday, or maybe a Wednesday, when the radio as an escape was taken away from me. The weather outside was fucking _hot_, and a lot of people were in the bar, trying to cool off with Nuka-Cola and whiskey. Dumb fuckers didn't realize they were stifling the place by crowding in there, but I suppose it brought in more caps. I usually made a little bit in tips, so busyness had its upside. I was pouring another couple of drinks, and Three Dog was going up and over in one of his rants again.

"_Hot damn, children, it's fierier than Hell outside, and for good reason! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's a dirty job, and someone's gotta do it._

"_Last week, the Brotherhood of Steel reported a massive increase in the super mutant population; larger hordes have been spotted all throughout the downtown D.C. area. I guess Christmas came early this year, folks. So, needless to say, the Brotherhood strongly recommends that you do_ not _venture in downtown anytime soon, not unless you've got a death wish, or you want to know how human stew is made._

"_But, on a happier note, we've got a sp—"_

Three Dog kept talking, but his voice wavered out, a thick layer of static smothering his voice. I was still pouring the drinks, so I was a little distracted, but I eventually looked up from my spot to the radio, giving it the evil eye, as if it would make the radio fix itself. When the thing kept crackling and drowning out the broadcast, I reached out a hand to slap the radio into working order, but it didn't do much.

"C'mon," I grunted, slapping it again. The brief thought came across my mind that I was hitting it the same way Moriarty smacked me around, when he stepped out of the back room.

"Gob, you hit that thing one more time, I'll charge you for it."

"Sorry, Mister Moriarty."

Agh, I really wish someone would stand up to that asshole. I had so many comebacks and insults bouncing around in my head all the time for him, but I never dared say them out loud. I'd practice in front of the mirror once in a while, glowering at myself, but then I'd start to notice the muscles showing on my face, I'd stare up my nasal cavity, and then I'd go back to work. Even I couldn't stand looking at myself for a few minutes at a time.

Anyway, I couldn't tell what would happen to me if I started to bark back at Moriarty. He'd probably beat the crap out of me, but he'd never kill me or kick me out. I was too valuable of an employee for him to get rid of me. Nor would he ever let me leave, not over his dead body. Probably not over his grave, either; he'd find some sort of twisted way to keep me rooted to _Moriarty's Saloon_.

In any case, Moriarty looked down at the radio, glaring at it like I did, then fiddled with the nob. The static was still there. He turned his eyes to me, but I already started busying myself with the next customer's drink, so I didn't make eye contact with him. I barely made eye contact with anyone, unless I was asking for a swift swipe at my jaw.

"What did you do to the radio?"

"Nothing, sir, the damn thing just started acting up."

"Don't give me that cock and bull story," he snapped, motioning to the radio. "'The fuck did you do?"

"It's true, Mister Moriarty," Billy Creel offered, taking his glass (which he didn't pay for, but he was about to save my ass, so I didn't say anything), "the radio started fading out just a second ago."

Moriarty growled, and I glanced sideways at him to see him roll his eyes. I could tell he had a hate-love relationship with Billy, because he was such a goody-two shoes stand up kind of guy (a bit much for Moriarty's liking), but he was the one that got the good deals from the caravans outside of town, bringing in the cheap booze. I liked Billy, mainly because he cut me a bit more slack than most smoothskins in Megaton did (which was everyone else—I was the only ghoul there), but he could still be an ass from time to time. I kept my head down, but I was still watching him inconspicuously as he took a smug sip of his liquor. Agh, fucker.

A few more people started to complain about the radio, too, when heavy footfalls came down the rickety steps to the side of the bar. I glanced sideways while I wiped down the counter to see a John coming down the steps, buckling up his belt. Gah, it was fucking disgusting. Any guy who didn't have the half decency to finish dressing in the room had less dignity than a handful of dead raiders. I shook my head a little bit at this sight, but drew my attention to Lucy West when she ordered another water. I bent down under the counter, pulled a bottle of somewhat purified water from the cupboard, and placed it on the table top. Lucy put the caps on the counter (every customer did that to avoid accidentally brushing my skin), and as I swiped them up, I glanced back at the stairs to see Nova coming down.

Nova was the saloon's "finest commodity". In Moriarty's words she was, anyway. She was a busy woman; she kept a lot of the men in town satisfied from week to week. As she walked down the steps, though, I could see it wearing her out. Her stockings, which used to be black and sleek, were now a dark grey, and riddled with holes. Even her boots were starting to get worked through at the toes and heels, and her leather jacket and skirt were wrinkled and weathered with age. I didn't know how old Nova was, but judging from how old she was when she first got there (five years ago, ten after me) she would've been in her mid twenties by now. If you were to look into her eyes, though, you'd see someone who looked so tired and worn that you'd think she was catching up in her years. Not that Nova wasn't attractive; quite the opposite, actually. She still had a little bit of that youthfulness she came in with, and her bright red hair was always the most vibrant thing to look at. It was shorter, messier, and a little on the permanently dirty side now, but it never ceased to catch my attention. I think that's where she got the name "Nova" from—the brightness of her hair. It was starting to fade, though, just like the name implied. I always used to wonder what her actual name was, but she dropped it practically on the day she came in through Moriarty's door. She was just a lost kid, then. I still feel bad for her. She's always told me that this sort of life is good for her, but I don't know. I think she deserves better.

"Ah, Nova, just the girl I wanted to see," Moriarty beamed, walking from behind the counter and striding over to her. She was just lighting a cigarette when she stepped off the stairs, the match burning bright, then fading to a small flame after she struck it. She slowly turned herself toward Moriarty as she concentrated on lighting the cigarette, then shook the match out as he threw an arm over her shoulders. "Mind stepping into my office for a minute?" he said, already guiding her there. She smiled slightly to no-one in particular, flicking the match aside and strolling along with him.

"Yeah, why not?"

As they walked past, I couldn't help myself. I looked towards them. If Moriarty saw that, he would've paused to smack me upside the head, but he didn't. I should've been watching the customers, but I wanted to give Nova a little smile, just to gage how she was doing. Sleeping with guys was her job, but sometimes, I could tell she was really bothered by it. As they walked past, her eyes darted to me, and she stretched her smile a little further. I guess that meant she was okay. When I said most people in town gave me shit, she was one of the exclusions from "most". I guess I could go as far as saying she was my friend, but I didn't want to give my hopes up. She was a co-worker for oh so many years, and both of us were always kept so busy that the most we could manage was a "hello" and "how's it going?" before we were whisked back to work. I had a few full blown conversations with her from time to time, but Moriarty would always catch us talking and send us back to work (usually by hitting me on the back of the head). He claimed that was where my Ghoul name came from, my inability to shut the fuck up.

As soon as Nova and Moriarty disappeared into his office, I went back to making drinks. People just kept lining up at the bar, trying to fight the heat off with more booze. It was a little contradictory in my opinion, but hey, whatever brought in the extra caps was fine by me. After making two more Nuka-Colas and whiskeys, there was a lapse in business, and my thoughts returned to the radio. It continued to fuzz, and it never corrected itself. I gritted my teeth and grumbled quietly, refraining from smacking the top of the radio again, in case Moriarty walked out just in time to see me do it (which, with my luck, was highly likely). Over the din of the fuzz, though, I could hear a little bit of Moriarty's and Nova's conversation. I turned down the dial to the volume, which could have been passed as me trying to drown out the annoying white noise, and I listened in as I started wiping down the glass Billy returned. He gave me this shit-eating grin.

"Nova, dear, you can't keep blowing your earnings on Jet," Moriarty reprimanded gently. I didn't trust his attempts at being caring; I never did once believe he had a sympathetic or gentle bone in his body. I simply thought he didn't want Nova spending her pocket money on drugs so that he could fish more out of her. My bias came from me getting shit from him all the time, but then again, I was a ghoul, and Nova wasn't. For all I knew, Moriarty thought of Nova as a daughter in some sort of sick, twisted way, where sleeping with your "daughter" from time to time was just flowers and daisies.

"Colin—" that was his first name, "—I don't want to get into this right now. I know there are some customers outside willing to pay a hefty amount of caps for all sorts of—"

"Nova," he said more firmly, and my hands slowed in washing the glass. I could hear something in his tone that I heard all the time: warning. I was worried he'd hit her for some reason, even though I knew full well he'd never try anything like that. I was just caught off guard because he smacked me around in that tone of voice on a regular basis, so I suppose it was a natural reaction. "Lay off it a while, would you? You're higher than a kite all the time, and work's hurting for it."

"All right," she said lamely, and I could hear her feet shift against the rusty floor. I could picture her sticking her hip out, resting her hand against it impatiently, darting her eyes around the room in guilt, trying not to look Moriarty in the eye. She did that sometimes, I noticed, when she spoke to him.

"Well, now, best go tend to those customers," Moriarty said, and my hand shot for the volume again. I don't know why; I guess I'm just a paranoid sucker. I let the static come back to normal volume again before picking up another glass to clean, just hoping a customer would stop in and ask for another drink before either of them came out, just to further prove I was kept busy, and didn't hear a thing. Like an answer to my prayers, the shady guy who'd been in our bar for a couple of weeks, Burke, came up and asked for another whiskey on the rocks. The ice cost more than the booze, but his pockets were _deep_, let me tell you. He never tipped, though. Dick. I could tell from his fancy pin stripe suit that he had a holier than thou attitude too grand for the likes of me, but common courtesy should've at least been in his broad vocabulary.

As Nova opened the door and walked past me, and I started pouring the whiskey, she reached over me from behind to snub out the rest of her cigarette. It was only half used, but I recognized this as her way of getting back to business. I looked over at her (even though I knew I shouldn't have) and she gave me a small smirk without looking at me directly, before she sauntered off around the bar and seductively traced a finger over some trader's shoulders as she walked past his stool. He looked up from his drink, a stupefied expression on his face (laced with exhaustion from the heat), when he caught Nova swaying over to the stairs, while she moved her hips with a bit of emphasis. The guy looked around at the other patrons at the bar, but no-one else seemed to notice the gesture. Giving a slight shrug, he slipped from his stool, then started up the stairs behind her. It was too easy, sometimes.

I was looking too long. I know this because Moriarty gave me a light slap on the back of my skull when he came out behind me, and I swiftly went back to work. He didn't make any rude remarks, though. He just chuckled softly, then muttered, "look at her go."

I'd mentioned that the life I lead was a little easier with the radio, but with that out of commission, and the sounds of the door locking from upstairs paired with Moriarty's laughing made me realize that Nova made everything just a bit brighter, too. I guess I couldn't fully appreciate that fact until I started to hear the springs squeaking again, and I was reminded of just how miserable this place really was.

* * *

It was five years ago that I first stepped into _Moriarty's_. I was just a kid back then, maybe about nineteen or twenty, so it didn't take long for me to fall prey to Moriarty's smooth talking. I was so naïve, so pathetically vulnerable. I'd come up to Megaton, hoping just to stay for a few days, with a caravan from Rivet City that let me join them for a small price. I'd been an orphan since I was a kid (but nowadays, who wasn't an orphan at that age?) and when I'd made enough to high tail it out of that old rust bucket of a boat, I did. I kick myself everyday for that stupid trick. Rivet City is probably the best bet anyone has out in the Wasteland now, and I left it so willingly, looking for the greener grass on the other side of the hill. I found out the hard way that I'd already been on the green side.

In any case, I'd come to Colin looking for work, any way to make a small profit. He had me clean up the place for a couple of days, just skirting around the inevitable. I didn't see it coming, is the sad part. After a while, some John asked how much it took to hire me. I told him how much I was making (which is a little funnier than it should be now) and he handed me the amount and led me upstairs. I tried glancing around for Colin, I even tried to catch the eyes of Gob. At the time, though, I usually avoided him like the plague, because I'd never seen a ghoul before. Especially not up close. He scared the hell out of me, to say the least, looking the way he did. I don't care how good of a person you claim to be; you take an up close look at a ghoul for the first time, and you'd be likely to go screaming for the hills, too.

Anyway, I'm getting off track. Colin was nowhere in sight, and Gob was busy with customers. Back then, I wasn't as tough-as-nails like I am now, so I didn't even dare telling the guy off or even try to scream for help. Even when he peeled my clothes off and fucked me mercilessly, I stayed silent. I spent about five minutes crying to myself after he left before Colin came looking for me, telling me to get back to work. I knew he knew what had happened to me, but neither of us said anything. It was what he had planned all along, probably. Besides, I made an entire days worth of caps from that little incident, and it wasn't excruciating, so why not?

Yeah, it's "staying for a few days", and five years later... well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, I guess. I'd say life isn't so bad, really. I'm pretty lucky, even. Not every girl gets a reliable income or source of food. Not to mention, I have a bed to sleep in, I have clients to chat me up, so I'm never lonely, and the town even has running water, so I can get a shower every couple of days. As for the rest of the Wasteland, the skies aren't quite as blue. I would have died out there within a week, I don't doubt that for a second. Colin takes care of me, even seems to give a shit about me from time to time, so I can't complain. I don't take pity from anyone, either. That's why those puppy-eyed looks from Gob get on my nerves once in a while, and I don't give him the time of day.

It's safe to say that I've gotten used to how he looks—you'd expect nothing less after five years, I'd hope—and it's easier to see what a sweetheart he is underneath all that rotting skin. Every now and again, those sympathetic glances at me after finishing up with a customer don't bother me so much. It even brightens my day, I think. We don't talk that much, being as we're busy at every waking hour, but those glances he gives me can be comforting sometimes. But, like I said, other days... ugh, it can make me sick.

After the last John left, Colin asked for the earnings I'd made that night (even though I usually got most of it back in my payroll), and I headed off for bed. He'd stayed up unusually late; most of the time he calls it a day after one in the morning, but he stayed up until closing time that night. Anyway, after I made sure my door was locked, I took the last inhaler of Jet out of my bedside drawer, breathing it in deeply, eating up the euphoria. I was a little put off to know that I wouldn't be able to get anymore Jet for a long time, being that Leo Stahl, my only dealer, had tried to get a piece of ass off of me for free. Big mistake. I chased him down the stairs, then made a fool of him by backhanding him a couple of times in front of the crowd, trying to teach him a lesson. I got my caps out of it, but he was also banned from the bar. Colin rarely gave me a day off, so my chances of crossing town to see Stahl were pretty bleak.

I'd have to hope some passing stranger would have some Jet on him, but if Moriarty found out I took Jet as payment rather than caps... I don't know what he'd do. I never tired. I might end up having a fate like Gob's, and get the crap kicked out of me. Colin wasn't likely to ever strike me, but you never know. I was sprawled across my bed, and I started to feel the high wear off and the crash approach. That's the drawback of drugs, I suppose. Pleasure can't exist without pain.

I woke up like I usually did: Gob's tired shuffling feet would always act like an alarm clock for me. It meant it was eight, and it meant it was time to open. Five hours of sleep a night can really catch up to a girl, but I suppose I became numb to it all after a while. I got up from bed, rubbing the crust from my eyes before I stretched, yawned, and headed downstairs after Gob. I had no idea how important today was going to be, not even after that guy walked in the front door.

I slinked my way down the steps slowly, muffling a "g'morning," to Gob with another yawn. I was sure that I'd be awake in another ten minutes. That's as long as it usually took for the first of my customers to come in. If it weren't my livelihood, I'd be laughing at each of those fools; couldn't a fuck wait 'til at least midday? That was what I was thinking after ten minutes passed and someone walked in through the front door.

Morning light poured through, and I squinted from my usual spot against the wall. I saw Gob pause from cleaning up last night's mess to cover his eyes, too. Eight was simply too early in the morning for this shit. Someone stepped in from the outside, but he (or she, I couldn't tell at the time) was silhouetted. When the door was closed again, I let my eyes readjust and focus properly before I even tried to get a good look at him.

The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a stark white lab coat, which was a little out of the ordinary, to be putting it nicely. Underneath that, though, was this blue jumpsuit that looked vaguely familiar. I remembered someone coming through a few years back wearing something like that, but I couldn't remember who, or from where. To boot, there was this thing wrapped around his left forearm with a little green screen, like a small computer. Basically, I was starting to think this guy was seriously lacking in the fashion department until I looked up to his face. I'm not kidding when I say he was the best looking man I'd ever seen; out in the Wasteland, there wasn't much in the pickings for handsome or beautiful. You were lucky if you had all your parts intact and undamaged by radiation, let alone perfect skin without any blisters, burns or scars. This guy looked like he was chiseled by God, if such a thing existed, and his hair was so neatly combed and trimmed. Hell, he probably was God.

I saw Gob look over at me briefly before looking back to the stranger. The guy just kind of stood by the doorway, hands at his sides, his eyes roaming around the room. I saw him look at me once, then Gob. He hesitated a bit, but I saw him walk forward to Gob bravely, barely even repulsed by his already dead look, and he said: "excuse me, might I meet with Mister Moriarty?"

Mm mm, he had the voice of God, too.

"Uh," Gob started, apparently surprised that the guy didn't find him frightening, either, "he's still asleep, but you can wait around for a bit, if you want."

"Thank you," he said with a quick nod, then looked around, seemingly uncomfortable. His eyes darted to a chair at a nearby table, and he sat down heavily, running a hand over his face. He was closer now, and when he pulled his hand away, I could see that he looked stressed, bothered. I'd be on edge, too, if I were him. He looked like a God damned martian, with his all too perfect looks and his way too clean, way out of place clothes. This, however, brought a smile to my lips, and I knew just the words to get what I needed out of him.

I strolled up beside him, tucking the cigarette I was about to light behind my ear, and leanied over, letting my face level right next to his, real up close and personal. I angled myself so that he'd get a perfect view of my tits. "Hey, sugar," I said, running my hand along his shoulders smoothly. He turned his head to look at me, but he didn't offer any sort of face to tell me if he was on board or not. "Looks like you got a lot on your mind. Want to take a load off before you see the Big Bad?"

He didn't even glance down at my cleavage. Not once. He smiled kindly, shaking his head slightly. His eyes still had that haggard look in them, though. "No, thank you," he said in his deep, honey-smooth voice, and I found myself thrown for a loop. Wasn't I supposed to be the one doing the swooning?

"I'll be waiting if you change your mind," I forced quickly, trying not to hesitate, then straightened, heading back to my corner. I was right pissed in my mind, raging silently for all I was worth. I never let a man get to me. It was easy not to, mind you, especially in this town. Like I said, the range of beauty in the Wasteland got pretty minuscule over the years, and no one exactly swept me off my feet. This guy was the first I'd ever met that I was sorry he didn't want to buy a ride. I clawed at myself mentally again when I thought this, and forced myself back into gear when I leaned against the wall again. I took the cigarette from behind my ear, lit it, then took the longest fucking drag I could.

That was when things got awkward. Gob made his way about the bar, tidying up the rest of the place before the others got in, while I leaned against the wall, watching the unbelievably handsome stranger sit patiently in his seat. I could see him staring off into the distance, tapping one foot, letting his emotions play on his face. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't totally separate from the rest of us; he obviously had troubles on his mind. Why else would he come to Colin if not for some sort of crime-related help? I couldn't imagine why else he'd be there.

Well, I was totally off. What was more surprising was that Colin actually _knew_ the guy.

Around eight thirty, after a few more patrons came in (none who wanted to do business with me) Colin came strolling down the stairs. At the bottom, I saw him turn towards the bar. This was the usual point in the morning where he'd grin for me and scowl for Gob, but his eyes immediately fell on the newcomer. It was hard _not_ to look at the guy; he was just so clean, so too-good-to-be-true. The look on Colin's face went from "don't I know you?", to "holy shit", and then to "I'm a smug bastard, watch me grin".

"James, is that you?" Colin said, folding his arms over his chest and smiling down at the guy. I shot a glance over at Gob, who returned it, then I looked back at the scene in front of me. The guy—James, apparently—got up out of his chair and stuck a hand out for Colin to take. He gave James's hand an unsure glance before he took it and shook it. I could tell Colin wasn't tickled pink by this guy, but he didn't seem to have a grudge against him, either.

"I didn't think I'd see you around again!" he said cheerfully, but it was fake, and I knew it was his way of covering his tracks, just in case he wanted to try and play the guy out later. "Thought you crawled into Vault 101 for good. How long's it been? Twenty years?"

"Almost," said James. Huh, so that's where I remembered his jumpsuit from. It was one of those brainwashing suits from those vaults built before the war. I'd thought everyone escaped by now; two hundred years of being holed up in a tiny cave would send anyone reeling. No wonder this guy crawled back out. I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that this unimaginable god-like man was here to see someone like Colin. Not that I thought lowly of Colin, but it was like comparing dirt to sunshine, those two.

"Well, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?"

James looked around the bar, but the only ones that seemed interested in what was going on was me and Gob. Everyone else was busy pouring their souls out over their drinks. James didn't seem to like the possibility of anyone listening, though, because he said: "do you mind if I speak with you in private?"

"Absolutely; I'm much more agreeable on a personal basis," Colin said with his hearty chuckle, motioning towards his office door behind the bar, "please, follow me."

Gob and I both watched the two of them walk off towards Colin's office. As they passed, though, Colin gave me this look that I couldn't read. It was sort of cautious, but not angry. There was... worry, maybe? I guess their last meeting wasn't exactly one Colin was favourable of. James didn't look at anyone, though. His eyes were downcast, worry still written all over his face. I started to guess that the root of his troubles had something to do with the fact he'd left that hole in the ground. Once they were inside the room, Colin closed the door behind them, and Gob flicked on the radio out of habit. The fuzz from yesterday was still there, and Three Dog's voice was foggy and jagged, almost impossible to hear.

"Ah, fuck!" Gob growled, moving to pound the thing again, but he stopped. Poor guy; I knew he loved that radio station.

"Try Enclave," I offered, taking another drag from my smoke. Gob just grumbled to himself, and kept the volume relatively low.

"Stupid piece of junk," he practically moped. It made me want to scrap my caps together just to get him a new radio. I was pretty sure the radio had nothing to do with it, but I just felt like taking the sour out of his mood. I think it made me realize that Gob was my rock, even if I wanted to deny it. I suppose I took for granted his ability to cheer me up, even when I didn't realize he was doing it. Kind of funny, I guess, since I used to have nightmares about his face.

I barely noticed the time go by, but eventually Colin and James came back out, and all James did was wave a hand towards him before he started for the saloon door. This time, everyone who was in the bar watched him go. I felt that nudge in my brain again that wished he'd wanted a tumble, and I forced it back down, squishing the cigarette between my fingers angrily.

"Well, fuck me sideways," Colin sang, letting out a low whistle. "I could go the rest of my life without seeing that guy again."

"Gave you trouble?" I asked. It was these sort of questions I could get away with asking. If Gob dared something like that, he'd earn a few swift kicks in the ass.

"Nah, he's just a smoother talker than me, and it bugs the shit out of me."

I suppose that would bug me, too. I used to think Colin was the master of words, but I suppose there's a first for everything. It made my thoughts linger on that James character a bit more than I would have liked.

Just then, another customer came in through the front door, and as soon as her eyes landed on me, she shot this nod in my direction, starting over toward me. "You available?" she asked.

"Well, lookin's free," I said, smoking the last of my squished cigarette, "the rest'll cost ya."

"Fine by me," the trader said, walking across the bar towards me, and handing me a small bag of caps. Colin turned on his heel and went into his little office almost immediately, and I led the gal towards the stairs. As I started to go up, though, I caught a glimpse of Gob's face, and I'd never seen him look more miserable. You'd think a corpse-like face would always look on the sad side, but I could see him seething silently, rubbing the counter fiercely. The radio must've really been bothering him. I don't know why, but I started to feel guilty. I thought at first that it was because I'd considered pretending that this woman was somehow that handsome silver haired stranger, which I _never_ allowed myself to do anything like that, but it was actually seeing Gob look so deflated that got me. At that moment, I only wanted to make him feel better, like he always seemed to do for me, just with a small, rotted lip smile. But I kept walking up those stairs instead, feeling the weight of the caps in my hand.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Two

It was going to be a pretty fucking lousy day. I didn't think the way too clean stranger from the vault was going to bother me any, but things started going down hill from there. After I was reminded that the radio wasn't working and Nova sauntered upstairs with her first customer of the day, I felt moodier than I had in weeks. I thought that maybe nothing else could happen to sour my mood, but I was wrong. The first guy that walked into the bar did nothing wrong, but I found myself angry at him. Maybe I was just jealous. I mean, I don't check out guys for fun, but I couldn't help but notice how perfect he looked compared to everything and everyone in Megaton, how flawless he was compared to me. Well, after he left, I thought I could take a breather, but around mid afternoon, the next guy walked in.

It was almost as hot as the last day, and all the usuals came back. Of course, every fucking customer made some sort of snide remark about me, which didn't help to better my mood. I barely caught a glimpse of Nova at all; she was busy with customers, one right after the other. I was a little confused as to why she was suddenly so popular, considering it was too hot to do any sort of exercising. She must've been boiling, but in our line of work, anything that brought in the caps was worth the trouble.

Finally, she came down stairs, and no-one else seemed to be waiting on her. Like usual, she reached for a cigarette out of her small front pocket, and moved across the floor. I was expecting her to go to her usual spot in the corner by the bathroom, but she started to move towards me. I felt my rotten mood dissipate a bit, maybe even feeling a bit of excitement. Moriarty was busy in his office, typing away some new notes or something, so we had a chance to chat for a while—if that's what she was coming over for, that is. I hadn't exchanged more than a few words with Nova for a week or so, so I was awfully glad she was taking the time to come see me. I put on a smile for her, turning my head slightly in her direction. Even if Moriarty wasn't around, I still had the habit of hiding the fact that I was looking at anyone. Nova made brief eye contact with me, then nodded her head at me, smirking a bit. I didn't like that smile; it meant she was at work, and she was smiling for the sake of her job. She wasn't in a good mood, either.

It was busy in the bar, but nobody was sitting at the stools up front, so Nova leaned up against the wall right next to the cash register, by the first stool. She took another drag of her cigarette, and I kept wiping at the counter. After a while, she still hadn't said anything; she kept staring off into space at some spot on the floor, so I decided I'd initiate conversation.

"How's it going?" I asked. That was what I usually asked her when we had nothing else to say, no more time to say anything else.

"It's going," she replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly. She flicked her cigarette over the ash tray, blowing out a breath of smoke, then went back to sucking on it again. I always wished she quit, and Moriarty had mentioned a few times that he'd prefer it if she did, but Nova didn't really seem to listen to anyone. I wondered what was going on in her head from time to time.

We were silent again. I picked up a glass, and started to wipe it down. "Yeah, my day's pretty shitty, too," I finally said, putting the glass down a little more firmly than I should have. "Maybe I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, I don't know."

"I've been there before," she said with a light laugh. I wanted to make a sympathetic face at her, but I shoved it back down. I couldn't read Nova well, but I knew sympathy from a guy like me wasn't something she'd be after all the time. The innuendo was a bit much for me to be comfortable, though, so I settled for grumbling to myself quietly. She caught it, though.

"What's got you?" she asked, pulling the cigarette away and holding it away from her, crossing her other arm over her chest, "is my line of work getting on your nerves or something?"

"Ah, I—uh... no. Sorry, Nova, I'm just... it's been a long week."

"I say that every week," she replied, another smile coming across her lips before she took another drag. That smile was different from her smirk; it was a little more genuine and uncontrolled. I found myself smiling slightly too when I saw that.

People were going in and out of the bar constantly, so I didn't notice the guy at first when he came in. The radio wavered a bit for a moment, coming in clear, then shooting back to static again, like the stab of a knife. I looked at the radio angrily, and I couldn't stop myself anymore. I was just in such a foul mood that I didn't care if Moriarty beat me senseless, so I made a fist, then pounded down on the radio hard.

"Stupid—piece—of—shit!" I growled angrily with each pound. It didn't do anything to fix the radio. The guy who'd just walked in kept standing by the door, but like I said, I wasn't paying him much attention at the time. I kept beating the pitiful little radio, and Nova sighed at me, shaking her head.

"It's not the radio Gob; Enclave station comes in just fine. GNR's signal's been shit lately, one of my customers told me that this morning."

It was the most she'd said to me for a while, but it didn't help to brighten my mood. If it wasn't the radio, and it was simply the signal, then there was nothing I could do to fix it. I'd be Galaxy-News-Radio-less unless that signal came back. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

I grumbled, pounding it one more time, before I finally looked up at the guy standing by the door. He'd been motionless since he came in, and my mind finally clued in that he was just watching us, so I glowered at him. And, Lady Luck on my side, as usual, it was the same flawless, handsome smoothskin.

"Wait, is that...?" I started, looking him over. It was dark in the bar, so it took me a few seconds to see him clearly. I realized after a while that it wasn't the same guy. He didn't have a white lab coat on, but he did have the same blue jump suit as the first guy. To boot, he looked about thirty years younger, with similar silky smooth wavy black hair. Oh, for the love of Pete, it was _another_ perfect vault dweller. What, were a string of them going to line up at the door and file through, one by one, just to remind me of what I used to look like, and how I'd never even looked that good? For fuck's sake, I was _really _mad now.

"God _dammit!_" I yelled, pounding my fist down on the radio again. It wasn't because I was still trying to get it to work, it was because I was tired of these good looking vault fucks coming through. Nova sighed again.

"Give it a rest, Gob," she chastised quietly, then finally looked over towards the new comer. I moved my eyes to watch her, then. She squinted towards the guy for a few seconds, then I saw her eyes grow wider ever so slightly, and her posture straighten just a bit. She stuffed the cigarette back into her mouth, took one last drag, then snuffed it out in the ash tray, never looking away from the guy. Oh, no, it was "back to business". Without looking away from him, she moved away from the corner by me, back to her usual spot on the wall. Yeah, it just got worse and worse for me today.

I don't know why I felt jealous; I shouldn't have, considering Nova did this for a lot of customers, but I guess it was because I was starting to realize that there were still handsome assholes out there, the kind that never left me a chance. Agh, fuck, forget I said that. I never would have had a chance with anybody, not since I became a ghoul. I mean... well, I did think about Nova like that from time to time, but before I got very far, I reminded myself that there'd never be a moment for the opportunity to come up. Even if it did, Nova would never go for it. I knew she liked me the most out of everyone in Megaton, but I was practically a walking corpse, so she'd never even consider it. I didn't know if that's how she felt or not, really, but I didn't doubt it. I was always really careful not to get my hopes up.

Anyway, as Nova walked back to her spot on the wall, I watched the guy from across the shady room, and I could see his eyes following her. He had the slightest of grins on his face, but it was too small to notice without actually looking at his lips. He had sharp features, high cheek bones, and he was pretty good looking. I don't swing for the other team, I'll have you know, but I couldn't deny that he was a pretty handsome guy. After watching him for a couple of seconds, I realized he didn't look similar to the first guy that came through earlier in the day—he looked _exactly_ the same. That was when I felt my jealousy burn hotter. No wonder Nova seemed to get frazzled like she did. I knew how she reacted to the first guy, and this kid wasn't any different, it seemed. If I were far gone enough, I'd swear I was about to go feral. As soon as Nova rested herself against the back wall, the kid started towards the bar, and I could see him watching Nova from the corner of his eye.

"What can I get you?" I asked the smoothskin as he got close, and as he stepped up to the bar, I found myself standing under the lamp with him. I could see him more clearly; his face was easier to study in the light, but I could also see how pale his skin was, like he'd never seen daylight. I glanced down at his vault suit, thinking that that thought was likely. Anyway, he paused at the bar, and I was waiting for him to answer, so I looked up into his face again, and I realized he was looking over towards Nova again. I gritted my teeth a bit, then looked over toward her, too, just to gage her reaction. She wasn't watching him anymore. Instead, she was standing suggestively with her eyes pointed to the floor, but I could tell she was keeping her attention on him. I couldn't understand why it was making me feel as angry as I was.

"What the hell happened to you?" the guy in front of me said, and I looked back at him from Nova. His voice sounded a lot like the first guy's (who had to be some sort of relative of his, if not his father) but it was younger, not quite as distinguished. He also had the same light eyes, but they were icier. When he was looking at me, though, his face wasn't one of utter disgust. If anything, he looked a little nonplussed, maybe even unconcerned, like he didn't actually care to have an answer.

"What? Never seen a ghoul before?" I said rudely. If Moriarty was around to hear that, ho... _man_, would I ever get it. But he wasn't, and even though I was taking my chances with this guy, I didn't care if someone punched me in the face for my remarks. He didn't seem to be angry that I'd back talked him, though. He made this face, stretching his lips out with the corners turned down, shaking his head a bit.

"No, can't say I have."

Well, I wasn't expecting that. I hesitated a bit, finally looking away from his questioning eyes and going back to the counter. "Lots of radiation exposure paired with just the right genetics leaves you with little skin and hair to speak for," I replied grouchily. "I was one of those lucky ones."

He didn't say anything immediately, but he sat down at the stool in front of him, 'hmm'ing under his breath. "That's unfortunate."

I looked up at him, slowing a bit in my cleaning. "Not gonna hit me?" I tested, "yell at me a little? Berate me, even?"

"No, thanks." It was a strange way to reply to something like that, but I went with it.

"Well, that's a surprise, I'll admit," I said, standing straight a bit. I saw Nova glance over, then look away just as quickly. "I'm used to getting shit from everyone all the time."

"I'm not one to judge on appearance," he said. I looked at him again, and noticed he wasn't making eye contact with me. He wasn't avoiding my face, though. He was looking around the bar, like he was studying the place. My first impression of this guy was starting to get multi-dimensional; first I was just pissed at him for looking so good, then I thought he was not too bad of a human being, but now I was cautious of him. I didn't like the way he was looking around. I don't know... it was shifty, like it showed me that he couldn't really be trusted, no matter how indifferent he was to my face. It looked like he was scheming.

"Well, thanks," I offered, letting the rag flop on the counter and drying my damp hand off on my pants. "How 'bout a drink at a bit of a discount, on me?" It really wouldn't be on me in caps, more in bruises from Moriarty's beatings once he found out the till was short.

"Sure," he said, finally looking to me. He gave me this lopsided grin before he reached for something on his hip. "A scotch sounds good right about now."

"No problem," I said, and moved towards the shelf behind me. I grabbed a new bottle of scotch, then made my way back to the counter. "Whole bottle is eleven, drink is two."

"Just a glass," he said, and he worked on the drawstrings at the pack he'd just pulled from his belt. I looked at it curiously, slowly pulling out a relatively clean glass to pour into, and I realized that I knew that little satchel. More importantly, I most certainly knew that it wasn't his. I'd seen that little bag on a regular at _Moriarty's_, someone who came in every month or so. I knew damn well that it'd been stolen from the guy, if not taken by force, but I didn't say anything. I was feeling unusually aggressive that day, and I was in the mood to shoot my mouth off, but I started to get a feel of my limits. I was starting to retreat back to my usual barrier, the cowardly one where I didn't dare say anything on my mind, but my head was buzzing with thoughts. _Just how did he get that guy's cap bag?_

He had to have had at least six hundred caps in that thing, and he held out two for me to take. Out of habit, I waited for him to put it on the counter for me to pick up, but he waved his hand at me, motioning for me to take it from him. I looked him over for a second, confusion mixed with mistrust stifling me before I held out my hand for him to hand over the caps. His clean, smooth fingers brushed against my rough skin and gooey muscle tissue as he dropped them there.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a sip. He looked old enough, but I swore he couldn't be more than twenty. When he rook a swig of that scotch, though, he barely so much as flinched, like he'd been drinking the stuff for years. He certainly was something else, but it didn't mean I was taking to him.

He sat there in silence, nursing his scotch, while I stayed bent over the counter, watching him. It would've made any other smoothskin squirm in his seat, but this guy didn't seem bothered in the slightest that I was glaring him down. "Know where I might find some employment around here?" he said, breaking the silence. I straightened slowly, and before I could form an answer (which I hadn't decided if it'd be snide or not), Moriarty walked in from his office.

"Gob, have you started the inventorying yet?" he asked, but I didn't answer him. I didn't turn around, either. I knew what his reaction would be as soon as he looked at who was sitting at the counter.

I heard his feet shuffle to a stop, and I watched the guy look up from his glass over my shoulder as he took another sip. He finally lowered the glass, still looking at Moriarty behind me, then said: "Something you have to say?"

"My God, it's you!" Moriarty exclaimed, then stood at the counter next to me, leaning forward on his forearms to come eye level with him. "You look just like your father. What the hell are you two doing, starting a trend?"

I could see something flash in the kid's eyes, something that I'd later learn wasn't all too common with him. It was something like surprise, maybe with a bit of distaste on his part. His one hand was still grasping the scotch, and he swirled it gently on the counter top, letting the liquid twirl around a bit. "My dad was here?"

Moriarty chuckled. "Yes, got what he came for, then left. I assume you'll be doing the same, yes?"

"I don't know yet," he replied smoothly, apparently recovering from whatever it was that caught him off guard when Moriarty mentioned his dad. Like I said, this guy was one for unusual responses.

"Well, what's the occasion?" Moriarty asked, straightening a bit, but I could still hear the evil grin on his face. He was hoping to get something off of this kid, but I think he misread him. This guy was anything but vulnerable. "I'm surprised to see you both again. Thought you were both sealed up for good in that little hole in the ground."

"Again?" the guy asked, taking another sip of scotch. "We've met?"

"About twenty years past, you, your father, and his Brotherhood of Steel friend came to my little saloon. You were but a wee babe back then. Crying and howling like a banshee, but for good reason, I suppose. Sorry about your mum, truly."

I almost thought I'd see that flash in his eyes again, but someone else came up to the bar, and I was forced to leave the scene before I could notice anything, just to avoid a smack from Moriarty. I walked to the other side of the L-shaped counter, but I made sure not to look the guy in the eyes. I could see that it was Jericho, though. "Whad'you need?" I asked, but I was barely paying attention to him. I was still listening in on the conversation.

After Moriarty had mentioned meeting the kid when he was a baby, he didn't respond right away. Then he said: "I should have known."

"What?" Moriarty probed. "Something your old man forgot to mention?"

"A few things." His voice shifted ever so slightly, like he was angry. It wasn't obvious, though. I moved past to the shelf to get Jericho's usual bottle of whiskey, and I flashed my eyes over to the kid. His eyes were on his scotch, but the moment I glanced over, he looked up at me. My automatic response was to look away as quickly as possible; most people opted to hit me when they caught me looking, usually with a yell. He didn't yell, and he didn't get out of his seat to hit me, either. I would've said he was a good person for this, if it weren't for his cold shoulder and the fact that he probably stole a hefty amount of caps off of some good mannered trader. There was no way someone could crawl out of the ground and have a few hundred caps a couple of hours later. I didn't even have that much, and I'd been working my ass off for fifteen years straight. Anyway, he added: "everyone my age thought Vault 101 was permanently sealed."

"Hah! You know, I've heard about the brainwashing they pull down there," Moriarty said. A few people around the bar seemed to start listening in. "Nah, people been in and out of that hell hole for as long as I can remember now. Many a vault dweller escaped from there, relinquishing their tales of woe for me to hear. You're not the first, nor the last I'll see, I can guarantee it. I really thought you two were lifers, though. But, here you are, both in the same day, as well. Why isn't it you two were traveling together?"

"He was here today?" the kid asked. I'd long since handed Jericho his whiskey and started cleaning up the empties, and I was curious to look back at his face. He sounded detached, like he really didn't care if his dad was here or not.

"This morning, yes, shortly after opening. You have the mind to go after him?"

I heard the guy scoff. It was really nerve wracking; it was sharp and cold, mixed in with a smooth laugh that said: "I don't give a shit about anything". "No."

Moriarty hesitated _ever_ so slightly, but I caught it. I don't know if the kid did, though. It was that subtle moment when I could tell his plans were dashed. "Ah, well, if you're ever in the mood for some information, I'll be waiting for you with bated breath."

The kid didn't reply right away, but I started turning around again to collect the rest of the glasses, and I could see him down the rest of his scotch. Fuck! That stuff was fifty percent! He let the glass down gently, then nodded at Moriarty, making brief eye contact. "I'll be back," he said, his voice even, like his throat wasn't even on fire from the stunt he just pulled, "I've got some errands to run."

"Errands? You're a busy tourist, aren't you?"

"Business man," he corrected, that minuscule grin on his face again, before he turned and left the bar. Everyone who'd been eavesdropping, including me, paused to watch him stride out of the bar, his step oddly inspiring. I dunno, it was the kind of walk that said: "I'm the leader, I'm the Alpha, follow me". I grumbled a bit as soon as the door opened and he stepped out, but that only helped to bring Moriarty back to reality. He smacked me upside the head again, like he usually did, and he barked: "didn't I tell you to get on with the inventorying?"

"Sorry, sir." Again, hundreds of comebacks came popping into my head like little bubbles, but they all popped before they ever had the chance to live. I moved to the tail end of the counter to pick up the clipboard and the pencil, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of Nova. Her eyes were wider than they usually were (she often kept them half lidded to be more seductive for customers, or some shit like that), and they were trained on the bar door. She seemed to absentmindedly pull another cigarette out of her pocket, and she put it in between her lips, striking the match and lighting it real slow. I must've paused to look at her too long, because she eventually looked back at me, giving me this queer look that said: "what're you looking at?"

"Gob, so help me, if you don't get to counting now...."

"On it, Mister Moriarty," I said, still looking at Nova, then turned to go to the nook behind me. I opened the fridge, then started to count the Nuka-Colas. I realized, after the fourth bottle, that I must've been glaring at her. I couldn't stand the fact that she was smitten with that smooth talking weasel. Apparently, though, Moriarty liked him less than I did.

"These fuckers have to stop breeding," he complained, turning back to his office. "Father's a good guy, but that kid... Gah! If I have to deal with another one of those slick shits..."

The door slammed shut behind him, and his complaints were drowned out by the flimsy door. I never thought it'd happen, but for the first time in my life, I agreed with Moriarty. I really wasn't going to like that kid. Never did, never will.

* * *

I might've been a whore, but that didn't make me a dumb ass, and I sure as hell didn't miss the looks Gob was giving me. He could tell just as well as I did that I was being really fucking stupid when it came to that kid. I was way out of it. He sent shivers running up and down my spine, and he had no business doing that to me. I thought it was bad when his dad came first, but to see a spitting image of him thirty years younger... _what's gotten into me?_

After the kid came in in the afternoon, business slowed right down; I had maybe three Johns between the afternoon and the peak hours. At least they spent a lot of caps. Anyway, it was around ten at night when the kid came back, true to his word. I could tell I was visibly stiffening once I saw him walk across the crowded floor, and I eyed him over. I was trying to be subtle about it, but I knew Gob had been shooting me glances all night, and he was probably watching me then. When he said he'd been in a shitty mood earlier in the day, I didn't realize until later that it was, for some unexplained reason, over me. I must've done something to piss him off, God knows what.

Anyway, I watched the guy take his seat at the bar again, waiting patiently for Gob to make his way over. I noticed that he'd ditched his vault suit sometime during the day; now he had a stiff shirt and dark jeans on with leather plating here and there. He also had a shotgun sawed in half attached to a makeshift holster at his hip. Fucking hell, I couldn't shake those thoughts—I was already getting wet. I was breaking rule number one: Never have interest in a man, especially not a non-regular. _Get into gear, Nova, for Fuck's sake—_

"I'll grab another glass of scotch," I heard him say. It was crowded, and a bit on the loud side, but I'd managed to drown out the bar to listen to him. "How much is it now?"

"Five caps," I heard Gob call over the noise. "Sorry, can't keep up the discount. Moriarty's bound to notice something." I knew that wasn't the case—Gob probably just realized he didn't like the kid as much as he thought he did to give him a discount.

"No problem," the guy replied, then pulled out five caps from his satchel. I knew that Gob recognized the bag from another trader, too, but neither of us mentioned anything. That was the lay of the Wasteland: no law, no justice, anything goes. As far as I knew, that satchel wasn't that trader's anymore. It was that kid's. My train of thought came to a horrible crash, though, when I heard him ask: "is it all right to bring this to a room?"

Of course, I was jumping to conclusions, but I couldn't help but feel that rush of excitement when he'd suggested renting a room. I was getting less and less angry at myself, I suppose, but I should've stopped this at the beginning. I was breaking rule number one every single second that kid was in the bar, and I was afraid that the farther it went, the more impossible it'd be to stop. I hadn't felt anything for a man since I was seventeen. I wasn't allowed to have feelings for men anymore. Now, some drop dead gorgeous guy (_boy_, even) waltzes into _Moriarty's_, and without a word, I'm swept off my feet? This was bad for business. But, if he was planning on renting a room, I might as well try to keep it strictly business for as long as I could....

Gob didn't reply to the guy right away. I could practically see the blood pumping harder through his veins as the guy said it, which meant he'd been thinking the same thing I had (at least, I think so. That subject was tending to get on his nerves today for some reason). Gob started to pour another glass of scotch, and as he was mid glass, he nodded sternly. All at once, I felt a rush of heat and guilt.

"Who do I see about the rooms?"

"Nova." He said my name like it was poison.

The kid glanced over at me, and I made sure I was looking the other way. "Thanks," the kid said, then slipped off the stool, placing the caps right in Gob's hand (which made me feel worse—I didn't even do that), and grabbing the glass. I looked away from the bar quickly again when I saw him turn his body towards me and walk my way.

I ran my left hand through my short shaggy hair, just so I could block his line of sight to my face for a couple of seconds. When I brought my hand down, he was a few feet away from me, and I decided that was an appropriate time to look his way. "Hey, sugar," I said, fighting to keep my voice from wavering. He was looking at my eyes as he walked over, which made me respect him even more; most guys resorted to checking me out sloppily. I didn't mind that, of course—I'm a hooker—but I still felt myself warming to this guy's approach. As he got closer to me, I could see that he was grinning, but it was awfully small to really tell. "What can I do for you?" I asked playfully.

"Nova?" I nodded. "I'm interested in renting a room."

"Well, for you, it's one-twenty, up front, if you want company," I said in my sweetest of voices, reaching for a smoke in my front pocket and twirling it in between my fingers. I found that most guys fell for the sweet-talking-while-fiddling technique. He didn't seem to be bothered by it, but his face shifted a bit, like he hadn't considered that "room service" came in a bundle. After a second, his small smile grew just a bit wider.

"Sure," he said, then dug into that bag again, picking out the bundles of twenty he'd made sometime during the day. Again, there was that huge rush in my stomach. I was way too into this for my own good.

He placed each bundle in my hand, and I could barely fit my fingers around the entire thing. I forced my business smile I reserved for customers to surface, just in case an actual smile appeared. "First room at the top of the stairs," I said sweetly, letting the honey drip off my tongue, "the one with the _big_ bed."

All he did was give a short nod, then made his way towards the staircase. Sure, that's what most Johns did, but no matter what a girl tells you, once she falls for an apparent asshole, he can treat her like shit as much as he wants, and she'll still be begging for more. I stood there against the wall, trying to collect myself, before I started up after him.

Sometimes, before I would follow some guy upstairs, I'd catch a glimpse from Gob. He always helped me get my game face on, I suppose. I'd say nine times out of ten he'd be watching me, and he'd give me one of those lopsided rotten smiles. I guess I started looking over out of habit, like it was superstition. If I caught Gob's smile, I'd be ready to do my job. This time, though, I looked over, and as soon as I did, I saw him look away real fast, a scowl on his face. God, what the _fuck_ was his problem today?

I forgot about Gob's troubles real fast once I looked forward again and realized I'd just been hired by the best looking man I'd ever seen. He turned onto the stairs as I walked along the bottom, and he looked down at me as he climbed, giving me a broader grin. Oh, _God_, was I in trouble.

* * *

My first guess would've been that this guy was a virgin, being that he looked relatively young, but I could tell from the moment he started to peel off his leather armour that he knew his way around the bush. We'd just stepped in the room, and I'd snaked my hand around him to take the glass of scotch from him. When I put the thing down on the bed side table, I heard the first _click_ of one of his gloves (he'd called them _gauntlets_, but I'd never heard that word, so I dropped it) as he started to unclasp the buckles that held them in place. I turned around to see what he was doing, and he was staring me down with that face that had that _tiny_ grin, holding his arm out as he peeled the first glove off, letting it flop on the floor.

That did it, I'd reached the point of no return; I was _screwed_ now, 'cause this pale skinned kid that looked like his god-like father had me pinned with something as simple as that fucking grin. I still had some sort of sense of control over my job, though, and I made sure to force myself into step. I walked up to him, making sure my eyes were half closed and my hips were swaying just enough, and he took off his second glove by the time I was a foot away form him, and he kind of just... "swept me off my feet" so to speak. I'd been treated like an object my whole career—not that I minded, it was my job; sex was like washing the dishes for me—so this was very different. I'd worked the sheets for five years, but I don't think I'd ever been turned on at all since then. Not in comparison to that night, anyway.

He didn't try to kiss me, which was a good thing. Jericho tried to pull that shit all the time, like he was trying to make it something it wasn't. Kissing was way to {too} personal for me; it started to blur the line between business and fun. He settled for burying his head in the nook of my neck as he pulled off my clothes roughly, but gently enough. I don't think I've ever had an easier time getting wet.

We were probably on the loud side—far too loud, I mean—but sometimes Colin knew me to pump up the theatrics from time to time. Maybe he'd confuse the noise for a high paying customer. I hadn't even bothered to keep track of time, like I usually did. I was disgusted with myself, but at the same time... I'd never enjoyed doing my job so much.

He finished—he had more endurance than a Brotherhood soldier; it took him at least an hour—but I'd finished twice over by then. Well, best one hundred and twenty caps I'd ever made, hands down. He was breathing deeply into my neck, slowly working his hips up against me as he edged off. I was panting more than he was, but to be honest, I don't think I was doing most of the work that time. I was supposed to be, of course, but he just kept going, kept taking over without saying anything. It was more attractive than I care to admit.

"Is it extra to talk?" he said quietly into my neck after a while. I was still panting, so I didn't answer right away, but I let out a light-headed laugh instead. Some guys went for the airy act, so I usually resorted to that, except this time, it came unintentionally.

"Sugar, this one's on the house," I finally said, the same laugh lacing my words.

He rolled to the side, closer to the end table, then grabbed the glass of scotch, sitting up in bed. His other arm snaked under my neck as he took a sip. It was a little surprising; I didn't take him for the cuddling type. Nor did any of the other customers ever want to pull that kind of stuff with me (except maybe Jericho). I must've physically stiffened when he did that, because he started to pull his arm away. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Hey, your caps, your say," I said quickly, reaching up with my hand to keep his from pulling out from under me. I don't know why I did that; I would've justified that I was trying to avoid insulting my customer, but I think... I think I kind of liked it. Shit.

His sip was long, but when he finished, he rested his glass on his thigh, letting out some sort of satisfied sound. After a second, he laughed shortly. "I used to bust into my dad's scotch stash and take the bottle to Amata's room at night. We usually ended up like this," he said, motioning to me slightly with the glass. Another chuckle. "Kind of nostalgic."

I didn't know what to say to that right away, but my job was to keep conversation going, so I decided to test my limits. "Girlfriend?"

He shook his head slightly. "No. Good friend, back in the vault." His words could've been considered sad, but he had the emotional range of a toothpick, so it seemed. "After my dad decided to high tail out of there, everyone else chased me out. I'm not exactly their best buddy anymore. I don't think I'll ever see her again."

I darted my eyes over to his face, and he was looking down at the scotch in his hand. "Sorry," I muttered, recognizing that look in his eye that I'd seen in plenty of men who reminisced about the Girl Who Got Away. He recovered quickly, though, letting an unusually big (for him) grin spread on his face. It was still pretty small, though. A short laugh escaped him.

"Shit happens," he said so eloquently, taking another sip of scotch. "It isn't as bad as I thought it was out here. Honestly, I didn't think life would be functioning like this."

"Like this?"

"Yeah, I'd imagined mud huts with stone-headed spears or nothing at all. I didn't think anyone survived the bombs. Then again, I also didn't think people came in and out of vaults as they pleased."

He sounded a little angrier, but we fell quiet, despite my frantic brainstorming to keep up the chatting. My breathing finally evened out, and I needed to take a couple drags. "Mind pulling a cigarette out of my pocket, hon?" I asked, turning my eyes up to him. "They're in my front pocket, in my skirt. Should be right next to the bed."

I wasn't just dipping my toes in the water with that move—I was taking a full blown cannon ball dive. He didn't seem to mind this, though. He took a peek over the edge of the bed, put the glass down on the table, then leaned down, his hand stretching out after him to stay behind my neck, then he came back up with my skirt. He draped it over his lap, then pulled a smoke out of the pocket, along with the pack of matches. Quick thinker. Courteous, even.

"Thanks," I said as he dropped them into my hand, and I quickly lit a match. Colin always gave me shit for smoking in bed, but I had my fire safety down to par. Besides, there was an ash tray on each end table. I came to work prepared.

There were a few minutes of silence where I just puffed on my cigarette and he sipped his drink. My smoke and his scotch were almost gone when he broke the silence. "My dad... fucking ass. I thought what he pulled this morning was shitty, but now... after Moriarty told me about meeting my dad before, I was angrier. I know I shouldn't be so quick to trust a guy like him, but it's easier to believe his shit than my dad's.

"Sorry, I... this is what I used to do with Amata—complain about things."

I was a whore, sure, and I had no business feeling slightly jealous, but I was. I forced it away, cursing myself up and down; I'd had several conversations like this with tons of other Johns, and this shouldn't have been any different. "No problem," I reassured, which was true. He probably just really needed someone to talk to. Might as well get his caps worth. At the same time, though, I kind of wanted to know about this guy.

"I just never... ever since I was a kid, I didn't get along with my dad. I didn't get along with anybody besides Amata, actually. I'm not too agreeable with people all of the time, long story short," he finished, taking the last sip of his scotch. When it was done, he held the empty glass up, turning it in the light. He scoffed. "I guess I should be happy about what happened today. I'd say, overall, I was the most miserable fucking bastard in that shit hole."

He was still moving his glass in the light, so I felt like I should say something. "What'll you do now?"

"Ah, start over, I guess," he said casually, "find some work to do, find a place to settle in. I'm actually not to bad a sharp shooter, so maybe I could just be a hand for hire. I don't know how broad the market is for that line of work, though. I'll improvise; I was a jack of all trades back in the vault. Maybe I'll find my limelight out here."

"I don't doubt it," I said, my voice thick with suggestion. He looked over at me.

"What are you in the mood for?"

"What do you want me to be in the mood for?"

He gave me that same too-big-for-him lopsided grin again (which was extremely becoming of him) before he slid down to nibble at my ear as his other hand trailed down my waist. Suddenly, work wasn't looking so bad this week.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_And, zellojello, you're my new online best friend, just for the record. Kay thanks._

_You guys want to know something nifty? I learn something new everyday, and maybe some of YOU will today, too. I found out that WE control the categories of ! THAT'S RIGHT! One day, I was interested in reading fics on _The Road _by Cormac McCarthy, but I found out there wasn't a category. I was sad. Then, I was updating my beta reader profile, and lo and behold, I could pick _The Road _as a specific interest! What do you think I did? I signed myself up! Then, about a month later, THE FIRST _The Road _FIC APPEARED! So, guys, if there's a subject you really want to see fics in, and you have enough balls, become a beta reader for that category! Maybe you'll see AMAZING results! (that being said, I'm not actually the beta reader for that story....)_

Chapter Three

The sun slipped through the holes in my shitty wall, poking me in the face. I groaned a bit—my eyes felt puffy and twice their normal size. I rubbed at them, feeling some of the skin flake off as I did. My skin would fall off from time to time, but it would grow back slowly. I didn't know why it fell off in the first place, exactly, and it didn't do anything to brighten my mood. I growled shortly at this, then ripped myself out of bed. As I got into the hallway, my eyes hit Nova's door right away. That kid had spent the whole night with her; she never came down at closing, like she usually did. It had been a long time since she had a customer occupy her all evening. This also didn't make me feel like sunshine, and I found myself trying to storm past her room noisily, rather than shuffle my feet like I usually did. I hoped I'd give them a rude awakening.

I made it down stairs, and I started tending to the rest of the mess I'd missed the night before. As soon as I picked up the first few bottles, though, I heard a door open from up above. I smirked to myself, thinking it was Nova's door, but I found out it was Moriarty's once the familiar boot steps stomped on the thin sheet metal floor above. Fuck! I thought he'd fallen asleep in his office again; he kept a cot in there from time to time, claiming it was cooler in there than up in his room. He must've crawled upstairs sometime early this morning. If I'd known he was asleep up there, I would've never dared making such a fucking racket. I was in for it now.

I heard him come down the stairs, and I steadfastly refused to look up to watch him get closer. I don't know if it was bravery or fear that kept me at my job, but it might've been both. I gathered the rest of the glasses on the first table, then moved towards the counter.

"Gob," Moriarty hissed at me, trying to keep his voice down for Nova (or maybe the customer), "what the fuck are you trying to pull?"

"Sorry, Mister Moriarty," I said back, trying to be just as quiet as him. My voice was so gravely, though, it was probably easy to hear, no matter how quiet I stayed. "I got careless."

"You're damn right, you were careless!" he barked a little louder, storming over to me. As I was setting down the last glass, he got close, then tore me around to face him by my shoulder. I made sure not to look him in the eye, though. "I'd have the right mind to kick the shit out of you right now, if we didn't have a paying customer in the building," he warned, his red face inches from mine. Of course, it was about the customer. He was probably pissed that I woke him up an hour or so earlier than he was used to, too. "Don't think you're off the fucking hook, you rotting prick! You'd best believe I'll be finishing up with you later!"

With that, he gave me a rough shove on my shoulder, then went back up the stairs again. I was standing next to the counter, so I was close to standing under Nova's room. I could hear some muffled voices, and I could hear the springs of the bed creak as they got up. Well, Moriarty was mad at me for almost waking them up, but he succeeded in doing it himself, it seemed. Motherfucker.

I finished cleaning the rest of the tables before I unlocked the front door. Nova came down a little while later, fastening the last button on her jacket. There was a smug grin on her face, and her eyes were just swimming. I growled to myself a bit. So, I guess that kid was a little talented for his own good.

I moved around the counter as she came down, and went for the till. I was going to count it and even it out before any customers came through. Nova came to the landing, then started to walk across the floor, making her way to the wall next to me rather than her usual spot. I wasn't so excited about this move as I was yesterday, though, and all I did was flicker some heated eyes in her direction before I went back to my counting.

"Hey, Gob," she said softly, pulling a cigarette from her pocket. As she did that, she _tck_ed, waving it in the air at me. I could see her broad smile from the corner of my eye. "Last one," she announced, pulling the book of matches from her other pocket. I grumbled in response.

"Guess I'll need to get some from Moriarty." She leaned against the wall next to me, lighting the end slowly, as if she were savouring the moment. "God knows that's all he'll give me. I don't suppose you'd know some easy way for me to get Jet, would you?"

I paused in counting the caps, and I looked up at her. She was glancing at me sideways, that same stupid grin plastered on her face that said: "I had a fucking wicked time last night". I was trying to glare at her, but if it bothered her, she didn't let it show. She continued to grin when she scoffed gently. "What, not you too? I don't need the both of you on my ass for my habits."

"He asked you to cut back," I said, but I phrased it wrong. I should've put more of an emphasis on it being a question, because she hesitated from taking another drag of her cigarette, then drew her eyes to the floor.

"You heard us two days ago?" she asked quietly. She finally took a drag, and I looked toward the caps, suddenly feeling guilty. I gave a small nod.

"Oh," she mumbled, before she blew out a breath of smoke. "That's embarrassing."

I let it sit awhile before I dared say anything. "I think he's right, Nova—you have to cut back, you can't let that shit get to you."

"Yeah, you're both right," she said bitterly, "but I can't exactly go cold turkey. Besides, I don't have the caps or the time to go for therapy. It's much cheaper just to get my hands on the stuff."

"You're letting it control your life," I mumbled, still not meeting her eyes. I closed the cash register then, the caps jingling noisily as she rounded on me, glaring me down.

"Yeah, and you let Moriarty control yours, but I don't see you trying to 'kick the habit'."

I felt like she'd slapped me or something, because I just stood there for a second, staring at the counter. Eventually, I moved to pick up the rag, then started to wipe down the counter. We rarely had chances to talk like this, and we never argued. I felt like a little caged animal like I usually did around Moriarty, but I knew my leash was a bit longer with her than with him. "At least you have the option to leave whenever you want."

I wasn't even looking at her through my peripherals, so I didn't know what her reaction was right away, or even if she heard me. Eventually, she said: "Oh, Gobbie, I'm sorry."

My eyes lifted a bit, but I didn't look at her face. I just saw her lift the cigarette to her lips slowly, her other arm crossed across her chest tightly. I looked down again, then continued to wipe down the bar vigorously. _Gobbie? _"I keep forgetting that you're holding the shitty end of the stick," she added, and I guffawed quietly.

"It's not so bad," I said, finally glancing up at her. She was looking at me. I looked away again before saying: "I feel like you're holding it with me, sometimes."

I heard a door open upstairs again, and we both looked to the staircase, trying to listen for which door it was. Moriarty usually walked out of his room with the same heavy footsteps and unmistakable gait each morning, and when we heard the quiet, carefully placed footsteps start towards the stairs, we both looked away. We would have if it was Moriarty, anyway, but I felt a little better about it being the kid. That being said, I still didn't like the fact that the kid was still here. I rubbed at a particular spot on the counter that had gum stuck to it for years, even though I knew it wouldn't come off. I wanted to distract myself from my thoughts; I was imagining what kind of face Nova would be putting on for this bastard. Everyone could tell they were having a good time last night—even a few of the regulars up and left at one point. I didn't have what it took to look at her, though. I didn't want to see that look on her face that I already knew was there.

The guy came to the bottom, then rounded towards the counter. I felt my eyes twitch, like I wanted to look up at him, but I kept them pointed down. When he got close, I started to say, "what can I get you?" and he put a glass down on the counter.

"From last night," he said, and I looked from the glass to his face. He was giving me friendly eyes, but I might've accidentally been letting my glare show on my face in return. "Thanks, Gob."

I never gave him my name. I grunted, then shot a look over at Nova. I guess they must've had a couple conversations, and she let my name slip or something. The thought was wiped from my mind when I saw her expression, though; she was watching him intently, sucking on her cigarette so the embers burned bright for a second. I didn't think I could be in a shittier mood than yesterday, but there I was, fuming more and more at my spot on the counter. Fuck, was I miserable.

"No problem," I lied to the kid; it was an automatic response. I thought he'd turn and start talking to Nova, but to my surprise, I only saw him give her a brief nod mid-turn before heading for the door. I looked up to watch him go, then I darted my eyes back to Nova. She was watching him as he opened the door, right up until he was swallowed by the bright light outside. I could see the look in her eye. Nova screwed herself over, letting a guy like that send her head over heels. It was her job to keep men company, but I knew someone like her had to keep herself detached in order to survive her line of work.

"Watch it, Nova," I said quietly, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Her head snapped over to me, and she twisted her eyebrows into a question.

"What?"

"Don't get carried away with him." I was trying to be helpful to her, but I supposed trying to get her to turn a leaf with the Jet was as much help as she was willing to get from me that day.

"Go fuck yourself, Gob," she said harshly, kicking off the wall and heading back towards her usual spot. "You don't know dick."

Yeah, she was screwing herself, alright.

I was expecting it to be as busy as the last couple of days were, but business slowed right down. The only people that came in were Lucy, that shady Burke guy, and a Wastelander that was just passing through. It did feel cooler in the bar than it had in the last few days, but there wasn't that much of a difference outside in temperature, as far as I could tell. Moriarty came down around ten (a little later than usual) and before he'd even came to the bottom, he started talking. "Nova, why don't you take a load off, go get yourself a shower?"

I was stock counting the vodka on the mid shelf when he said this, so I didn't turn around to look at Nova's face; Moriarty probably wouldn't have held back from punching me swiftly where my nose used to be. I could already guess what went across her face, though; she'd have a flash of prospect cross her eyes, before she forced it down, replacing it with a cool expression that didn't dare give anything away. I knew all too well that she wouldn't head for the showers; she'd go straight for _The_ _Brass Lantern_, she'd look for Leo and his Jet stash.

"Thanks, Colin,"she said, maybe a little shakily. I heard her push herself off of the wall and stalk across the floor. _Come on, follow her, don't let her go alone, Moriarty,_ I pleaded in my head. But, there she went, and I heard the door open and close without Moriarty doing anything. I realized what skin was left on my knuckles was white as I clenched the pencil tightly. Then, I heard Moriarty's footsteps come up behind me.

The pencil and the clipboard flopped out of my hands as he slapped me on the back of my head, and my forehead smacked against the bottom of the top shelf. I yelled out briefly, then clenched my teeth shut to try and stifle the sound. My one hand came up slowly to massage the tender tissue on my forehead, while I carefully bent down to collect the things I'd dropped with the other. I should've been expecting something like that from Moriarty.

"That's for this morning," he growled. When I turned around to face him, I caught the sympathetic glance of Lucy West. She was a nice enough girl, I guess, but she usually avoided me out of the same contempt that most people had for me. I was glad she was the only one within eye sight—I didn't want everyone in Megaton seeing that little shit show. When I saw Moriarty's face, he was glancing to Lucy, too. "Pull that stomping stunt again, and I'll shove your head as far up your ass as it'll go."

"Sorry, Mister Moriarty," I grumbled, not meeting his eye, like usual. Of course, I wasn't sorry, but it was another one of those responses I had no choice but to say. Refitting the pencil in my right hand, I turned back around to the shelf, and started counting the vodka again. The fucker made me lose count.

A little more than five minutes later, I was wondering if Nova actually aimed for the women's restroom for a shower or not, when the first distant sounds of gunshots echoed from outside. I looked up from the shelf towards the front door, and Moriarty glanced between the door and me.

"You keep watch," he said, shoving a finger in the air at me, before he vaulted off of his chair and whipped his pistol from his belt. For being such an old man, he was in pretty good shape. As he whipped through the door, Lucy swiveled in her seat, staring after him as he disappeared. She then looked to me, and we could hear another gun _popping_ in the distance. I knew Burke was in the nook just around the corner from the counter, but he didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that a gunfight was going on, considering he didn't seem to move from his spot. "What's going on?" Lucy said, pointed towards me.

The only thing I could think about was where Nova was.

* * *

I stepped out into the daylight for what felt like the first time in years. The light on my skin was warm and inviting, and it was almost as if I was high again. I looked left and right, staying rooted right in front of _Moriarty's_ for a second, trying to decide what I actually wanted to do. When Colin mentioned taking a shower, I thought it was a nice idea, considering I couldn't remember exactly when I'd last bathed, but then the idea crossed my mind that I might be able to go see Stahl. I was already starting to feel a little shaky, and it was like there was this invisible layer of pressure pushing down on me. Withdrawal was starting to build up like a stiff pressure, and the only thing I could think of doing was finding away to fight it off. Of course, I knew there were only two options, and I was really keen on option one: buy some more inglorious Jet from that no-good bastard, Leo Stahl.

I started towards the women's washrooms, but I glided right on by, headed for the ramp that led down the craterside. I passed Nathan, Manya's Enclave loving husband, on the path, and he looked at me a little indiscreetly as he passed. I suppose it wasn't his fault; I'd been so used to being in character for so many years, that I forgot I wasn't in my element anymore, I made an effort to stop swinging my hips so much. I even tried to slouch along unattractively, just so I wouldn't tempt anyone into buying at that moment, but I'm not sure how well that worked. Who knew, maybe he was only watching me because he was just as surprised as I was that I'd managed to get out of that miserable bar.

I started down the ramp, my boots clanking against the iron slats, when I started to wonder where that kid was. He didn't tell me what his name was, but then again, most Johns didn't, not unless they came back a couple of times, became regulars. He was probably well clear of Megaton now, running around the Wastes, shooting up super mutants for some rich explorer, trying to make a few caps. I shook my head at myself, trying not to think about the little bastard, but when he left the bar this morning with only a nod... what the fuck else did I expect? I guess I was hoping for more, but I should've known better not to. I was a whore, for God's sake, not some single girl up for grabs. Of course he was indifferent to me, as he should be. I should've been indifferent to him, but there he was, bouncing around in my head... fuck, I was slipping. I needed some Jet, and I needed it fast. I could already feel my hands start to shake a little bit more than they should have been.

When I got to the bottom, I walked past Confessor Cromwell and the bomb he was praising along with the other loonies in his church. The Church of Atom started up shortly after the town officially became a thing, and since then, the crazy bastards would stand in the puddle by the atomic bomb, blathering away to it like it was Jesus Christ or something. At least, that's what Nathan slurred about once as he poured himself out over his rotting beer in _Moriarty's_. His wife had been in Megaton almost since the beginning, and she knew more than anyone about its past, including why those assholes went nuts over the bomb.

"Stand in his glow!" the guy in the water howled, stretching his arms out to the sky. God, that guy must've been standing in that puddle everyday for five years, probably even before I'd showed up to Megaton. "Let us bathe in Atom's glory!"

Oh, God. I was glad that guy never came in for any business. I didn't have much for standards, but this lunatic... I'd have to refrain from barfing mid-fuck if he ever hired me.

I tore myself away from that ugly sight, and I caught a glimpse of Jenny standing behind the food counter in front of _The Brass Lantern_. She was giving me the same look Nathan was, and I shrugged it off. She was probably confused as to why I was coming near her bar, considering I worked at the more popular one up the hillside. A couple of guys were sitting at the counter, munching away at some sort of irradiated concoction made by Jenny herself.

"Hey," I greeted, aiming myself at the door, "how's business?"

It was probably the most I ever said to her; I only saw Jenny once or twice in a year, so we weren't best pals, to say the least. She shrugged lamely, still apparently caught off guard that I was roaming around near her joint. "Keeping me busy," she replied.

Just then, one of the guys sitting at the counter caught my eye, and I looked over at him, like my eyeballs were simply burning to give him a glance. Just from the back of his leather armour and his neatly combed, wavy black hair, I could tell it was that kid. I felt myself slow in my step a bit, but I don't think anybody noticed. I realized my eyes were glued to the back of his head once he started to turn around to look at me, but I tore myself away, looking to the door instead. He was a customer, but we weren't in _Moriarty's_, so it wasn't important that I treat him extra nice. Besides, I thought about him differently than I did other customers, and it was important for me to give him the cold shoulder. It'd be better for everyone involved. That being said, I figured I didn't have much to worry about; he'd be out of town soon, out of my hair, and I'd be able to forget about him.

The front gates were probably a hundred feet away, up the hill of the crater, but I could still hear the metal doors being slid open forcefully. I didn't think too much of it, and I kept walking for the door, but Simms yelled out something from up top, and then someone fired off their assault rifle. I heard someone scream—it might've been me—and I ducked, hugging myself against the wall of _The_ _Brass Lantern_ next to the door. A few more bullets went off, and they were _loud_. I'd heard a few gunfights in my time, but this one was closer than the others, and a bit more closer than I would've liked it to be.

Andy burst out of the Brass Lantern all of the sudden, a pistol in hand. That's when I noticed the kid had taken off of the stool and was running up the hill, pulling his short shotgun, while the other woman at the stools ducked down. Jenny was also hidden behind her counter, and Andy looked down at her. "What happened?"

"I dunno, they just started firing—"

Andy didn't stop to let her finish, he just ran around the counter and up the hill. I got on my hands and knees and crawled towards the counter for cover. Looking back, there was a real thin chance that I'd actually get clipped, but I was scared shitless at the time, so I resorted to crawling around like a dumb ass. I heard another yell, but it was from someone I didn't know. Then, there was this loud cackle, and I could hear something big fly through the air with a thick whistle. There was an explosion from somewhere up the hill, and I felt everything shake; I swear to God, _The Brass Lanter__n_ tilted. This time, I knew it was me who yelped, and I threw my hands over my head. We'd been attacked by super mutants and raiders before, but none of them ever brought huge guns like this. I'd always been inside _Moriarty's_ when it happened, too, and I barely noticed anything happened. If I had any on, I'd say I was about to piss my panties.

"We need—!" Jenny shouted to me, but the last half of whatever she was trying to say was drowned out by the shouts and gunshots of the fight up above. I threw my hands over my ears, looking around frantically, but not really seeing anything. I saw Jenny get to her feet and run off in the opposite direction of the gunfight. There was a huge wave of noise, like everyone was firing their guns at the same time, and I scrambled to my feet to follow Jenny, trying to get a hold of my brain. My hands were still locked over my ears, but the noise was just so _loud_, I couldn't get a hold of my thoughts. I could see Jenny running for the stairs that were right next to the Church of Atom, and I forced my hands off my ears so that I could run faster after her. When I got closer, I could see Jericho ripping down the steep steps in between the planked foundations of the buildings on the slope. He was Megaton's best shot, hands down, and he'd saved our asses in a ton of firefights. I only hoped he could do the same now.

I looked over my shoulder towards the slope, where everyone was blowing off their rounds, and I could see about ten raiders holding off the top of the hill by the front gate, firing everything they had on the four people at the bottom. Each of them were hidden behind some cover, but they were way outnumbered. I could see the kid stretched out in the dirt behind a huge hunk of water pipe, his face twisted in a ferocious snarl, waiting for a moment he could fire. We were in deep shit. I considered that an understatement once I saw the raider with the missile launcher reload her beast of a weapon.

With that, I turned my head and ran faster toward the stairs. "Incoming!" I yelled over the din to Jenny, but I'm not sure if she heard me or not. I was expecting the missile launcher to go off any second, but as I raced up the stairs, I looked back over the fight. I was far away, but I could still see the girl sprawled out over the ground, and the missile launcher tip over the slope, rolling down the hill thickly. The rest of the raiders were turned to the left, firing at someone who'd flanked them. I paused on the stairs as I watched the other four guys on the hill start to ambush the team of raiders. Within a couple of seconds, at least three or four raiders dropped like flies. Numbers mean shit once you get attacked from more than one direction, I guess.

"C'mon!" one of the raiders howled like a wounded animal, twisting back and forth between the two groups blasting at him. The other few raiders tried shooting to their left, but one of them bolted for the gate, and a couple more followed. One guy's head snapped to the side from a bullet, and he hit the ground hard. Another one got shot, then the raiders that were left ran for the door. I saw the kid get up from his spot on the hill, trying to get close enough to the group to shoot at them. When one of the raiders got to the door and started to pull it open, everyone came out from cover and started to chase them down. I saw Colin charge from the left (I should've known he'd be there, the slick bastard) and Jericho sprint up the hill behind the kid. Just before the last raider got to the door, I saw the kid grab onto the raider's mohawk, pulling her down to the dirt. Her shout echoed in the distance, just before all of Megaton's heroes surrounded her. I couldn't tell what they were doing, but they weren't kicking her while she was down, from what I saw. Jenny ran across the crater towards the stairs that led up the hill, and I started back down the stairs to follow her.

When I got near the top of the hill, Colin spotted me, giving me this twisted look. "The hell you doing, Nova? Get the fuck out of here, go back to the saloon!" he called, and I saw Jericho turn around and walk towards me.

"Come on, Nova—"

"Jericho, here, _now_!" Simms shouted, and he turned and went back to the crowd, Colin included. I could hear the raider screaming, and I could even see her kicking around in between everyone's legs. The kid was pinning her down. Why didn't he just shoot her? I saw a few people point their guns at her, but before anyone could pull the trigger, Simms knelt down and punched her in the jaw.

"What the hell are you trying to pull?" Colin roared.

"I've got questions," he growled, "and I want answers."

"Answers?" Colin said cynically with a laugh, "she's a fucking raider, for Christ's sake, what kind of questions you want to ask her? What kind of tar she puts in her hair to keep it up all day long?"

"Hey," the kid interrupted, looking in between Colin and Simms, "let's just get her inside and tie her down. We can wait until she's awake again for questioning. You might hear something worthwhile from her."

It doesn't sound like much, but you had to be there to understand how smooth he sounded. Without so much as a snarl, everyone seemed to agree with him, and the kid and Andy moved to the raider's shoulders and feet, lifting her up from the ground. They headed down the path to the left, towards Simms's house, and Simms followed. All the people who'd fled at the sound of gunshots had come back to the entrance, gawking at the scene. I noticed a couple of people move to the main gate, just to make sure the rest of the raiders were gone, and a couple more started to check the other bodies for loot. After a second, I started to realize that my hands were shaking a bit more, and my head was starting to swim. Just then, I turned on my feet to see Colin glance back at me, and his face was contorted again.

"Didn't I tell you to go back t'the saloon?" he barked, marching over to me. I opened my mouth to say something, then I buckled over, spewing puke everywhere. I didn't know what was wrong with me; seeing a scene like that wouldn't have shook me up. I stepped backwards from the vomit, but my knees gave out, and I fell back on my ass. All of the sudden, I was looking at sky, and Colin's head popped into my sight.

"Nova?" he said, but he sounded kind of small, like he was really far away. I started to feel like I was dying, and my sight started to fade out. The last thing I remembered was being lifted off the ground. It felt like I was leaving my body behind, though. I really thought I was dead, for some reason. To be honest, I didn't think it was such a bad thing to be dead, at the time. At least I wouldn't be living out my shitty life anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_About ghoul anatomy—in game, Greta suggests that ghouls can taste rotten food, while an NPC conversation states that ghouls don't have a sense of smell. I'm choosing to ignore the latter, considering smell and taste are invariably linked senses; in other words, you can sometimes taste what you smell, and vice versa. Instead, I've taken the liberty of guessing that radiation probably kills some of your taste buds and muddles with your olfactory bulb, so taste and smell are subdued in ghouls for this story's purposes (well, mainly because I'm just stubborn, and I want it to be that way)._

_Plus, I've also made up the withdrawal effects of Jet. I took the information off of _The Vault _Fallout wiki page, then exaggerated them. That's because I think Fallout 3 has lame withdrawal symptoms. Slightly jarred agility? I think not._

_Anyone up for really good fiction? You are? Well, I recommend you read Dee Troit's _Nothing to Trade_. It is the epitome of goodness._

_As another note, there's no Nova perspective in this chapter, just so the horizontal ruler doesn't throw you for a corkscrew._

Chapter Four

After the explosion had gone off, Lucy and Burke high tailed it out of the saloon to see what was going on outside. I would've gone with them, but... I think it's safe to admit that I live life with my tail between my legs all the time, and I wasn't too keen on a potential beating from Moriarty in the works for me. So, I stayed put, seething in my spot, angry and worried at the same time. I was pissed at myself for staying behind when I really wanted to go see just what the fuck was happening, but the thought of Nova caught in the middle of whatever that firefight was made my stomach turn so fast, I thought it would just drop out my ass at any second. After a couple of minutes, the firing stopped, and I was left alone in _Moriarty's_ to my own thoughts. Then again, even when I was helping customers, I always had time for my own thoughts, because I didn't have to think in a one-sided deal, being that people tried to avoid any communication that wasn't necessary in getting their booze. But it was never _this _quiet, ever. Not even when I went to sleep. My ears were ringing so fucking loud, until—

The door swung open like a hurricane busted in the door, and sunlight charged through into the dark saloon, stinging my eyes a bit like I was some sort of cave animal that never saw light in its life. I shielded my eyes from the sting, squinting to see a silhouette start to stomp through. Since my vision was out of commission, and the sound of the footsteps were heavy and almost menacing, I thought that whoever started the gun fight was here to clean house. I could've shit my pants then, if I didn't realize all too quickly that it was Moriarty. His step did sound heavier than usual, though, and I soon found out that it was because he was carrying someone. The light was still stinging me, but I dropped my arm out of shock. Hanging limp in his arms, bouncing slightly with his step, like dead game being carted off by the hunter, was Nova.

I should've asked what happened, because Moriarty had his hands full, and the risk of being punched in the jaw for being an ass was pretty bleak, but I didn't. I did rush along the bar's length, following Moriarty as he crossed the floor, like some sort of pet might follow his master through a fence. Right on his heels was Jericho, and they both clambered up the steps. Moriarty was red in the face, and I could see the strain in carrying Nova bulging the vein in his neck. After they disappeared out of view, I heard the door to Nova's working room slam, and then I couldn't hear anything anymore. It was silent again. I thought she'd been shot. I actually thought she was dead until I heard her wretch. I could even hear the vomit splashing around in the bucket. Just what the hell happened?

It took about an hour before the first customer came back in. I was leaning against the counter, and I snapped up straight as soon as the door began to creak open. Out from the blinding light came Lucy, like some sort of Godsend, and she started towards the bar, looking me straight in the face. I avoided her eyes at first, almost squirming under her stare, until I finally dared to look up at her.

"Gob," she said quietly, sliding onto the stool across from me, "did you hear what happened?"

Lucy was a sweet girl, but even I knew she didn't take to me much. It's hard to get along with someone that looks like he'd been resurrected from the dead _after_ the Wasteland scavengers picked off everything useful from his face. That's why I was surprised that she so readily came to me to gossip about the raider attack. I would've laughed the moment she said that the raiders tried to take Megaton if my nerves weren't so on edge. I was still clinging onto the noises of Nova's vomiting and her weak cries of pain, though, so I listened to Lucy's story only half heartedly.

Turns out that a group of raiders from somewhere far up north started to migrate southbound, trying to see what they could pull. They took out a few settlements, but by the time they'd come into the Capital Wasteland, they were screwed. A few deathclaw attacks later, they were desperate for supplies and shelter, and the moment they saw Megaton, they didn't even hesitate to pull out all they had to try and take the town out. I guess when you're a foreigner, new territory is like turning out all the lights, and you go in blindly—that is, Megaton was a huge surprise for them, like getting a fist shoved up their asses.

Anyway, Lucy said they found all that out, because that guy from Vault 101, that everyone seemed to like so much more than me, helped catch one of the raiders for questioning. She was still tied up in Simms's house apparently, which caught me off guard. Even I'd pluck off a raider at the first chance. Lucky for her, I guess, everyone had a mercy streak all at once.

Just as Lucy was finishing off her story, Nova puked loudly again from upstairs. Lucy was lifting the bottle of water to her lips, but paused when she heard the sound. "Oh, Nova collapsed. She wasn't hurt, was she?"

No-one except Moriarty or Nova ever asked me direct questions like that, so I had to force my voice past my lips to answer Lucy. It sounded scratchier than usual. "I don't know."

"Oh," she said, finishing her sip of water. I occupied myself with wiping down the counter for what felt like the tenth time since she started talking to me, and then she turned and went back to her usual table in the corner. My mind was swimming through the information of the raider attack like a mole rat might roll around in a puddle of filth, trying to figure out how Nova'd been injured.

Jericho came down about half an hour later, running his hands over his shaved head. I watched him clank down the steps one by one, but when he turned toward me and approached the bar, I looked away quickly, pretending like I wasn't eagerly awaiting some sort of news. Lucy was a nice person, and I was lucky to get information from her, so I knew I'd get dick all from Jericho.

"Whiskey," he grunted, throwing down the caps on the counter and sliding onto the middle stool. I turned toward the shelf, grabbed the last whiskey, then handed the entire bottle over to him. Jericho wasn't the kind to beat around the bush—he always got the entire two-six, just to make sure he'd get all the drunk he could afford.

To my utter surprise, Jericho started talking. Talking to me—or at me, to be more specific. I guess everyone was still high enough on adrenaline to forget that they hated me. Maybe they realized I was the only person not around at the time, and they could lavish their stories of the most exciting thing that happened in town in a long time on me. Well, I was being used in a way, but I didn't mind. At least it meant I got word straight from the donkey's mouth.

"She passed out 'soon as they started taking that bitch into Simms's," he said, popping the top on the bottle and taking a swig. He always did it the same; I could see him spread his legs and his arms out, like he was trying to take up more space at the bar, then tipped the bottle up and to the side, letting his bottom lip stick out. I thought he looked like a fucking idiot, but he probably thought he looked pretty slick. He slung the bottle back down, and the amber liquid swirled around inside. "She wasn't shot or nothin'... she just got sick."

I felt a little relieved, to put it one way. At least she wasn't actually clipped in that slop job of a fight. But there was something obviously wrong, so I was still on edge about her. Jericho was quiet again, and I wasn't expecting him to say anymore, but after his third comical sip of whiskey, he scoffed, then kept blabbering.

"Moriarty thinks it's withdrawal," Jericho said, wiping at his nose. He sounded kind of crushed, like he'd lost his prized assault rifle that his mommy gave him on his first Christmas or something. "At least she was cutting back, but... didn't think she'd go cold turkey. That's a shitty idea—I wouldn't think on her to do something like that."

She wasn't—not on purpose, anyway, I knew that much. That morning she'd asked me for a Jet supplier. Maybe she was starting to feel shaky, and she knew she needed to get her hands on some fast before the crash hit her hard. I guess the firefight showed up just at the wrong time.

"I didn't think withdrawal was that harsh, though," Jericho went on, sucking on his whiskey bottle slower and slower. "I mean, she's spent most of the morning puking her guts out like she was a bottomless pit. I don't even do that when I have a hangover. She was shaking and sweating an awful lot, too, and man, her face... she's gotta be in a lotta pain.

"I mean, I hope she's okay, but it's fucking _hot_ in there, man, and I've had enough. I'll let Moriarty take over for the rest of the day. Maybe I'll check in on her tomorrow, but... fuck, I still can't get over that _action_! That's the most I've seen in months, man! I'm a lucky sonuvabitch, you know that, you lousy bastard? Not every-fucking-day that a group of shit-for-brains raiders fall into your lap for you to take pot shots at. And that one chick had a fucking missile launcher! Man, I just wish I'd been there sooner. Simms and that vault asshole got more action than I did..."

Jericho kept talking, but I drowned him out after a while. It wasn't like me—usually I listened to everyone's conversations, hanging off their every word, simply because I never had many conversations of my own. It was how I got through a day. I mean, sure, it was rude to eavesdrop, but if you're gonna chit chat at my bar, how the hell am I not going to listen? Anyway, I stopped listening to Jericho because he started getting into details I'd heard already, and all I was actually interested in hearing about was Nova. At first, I was standing on the edge just hoping someone'd tell me what the commotion was about, but after I watched Nova get carted in like some sack of stones, I only cared about what happened to her. Jet withdrawal—it had to be that, I was almost dead certain. I'd heard that the withdrawal was a little more harsh than you'd think, making your balance all shitty and your health as a whole even worse. She'd probably only be like that for a couple of days, but after that, she'd be haggard until she got more Jet in her, or if she paid off Doc Church for a little chem treatment for her addiction. I started to fume inside, because I knew she wouldn't ever get the treatment. She'd mentioned that she couldn't afford it, that getting more of that euphoric gas was more accessible than a cure, and it just ate me that there was nothing I could do. Like I said, she was the closest thing I had to a friend, and knowing she was at the bottom of the fucking barrel just irked me. The thought left a misplaced grin on my face, though—at least she was at the bottom with me.

Another hour later, Jericho had long since stopped rambling, and more customers filtered back in. Jericho was getting more and more drunk as the day went on, though; he even tried to tell Lucy of his gun fight story. Of course, she'd seen it already, but she didn't interrupt him. Either it was because she was too sweet hearted, or because she was afraid he'd actually punch her in the face if she told him off. In fact, he wasn't the only one talking about it in the saloon—it was all anyone seemed to talk about. That, of course, annoyed me. I guess I would've been just as excited as they were about the attack if I'd been there, but I wasn't, and all I really wanted to do was go upstairs and check on Nova. I knew that if I did go up there though, Moriarty'd beat my ass fucking hard, I wouldn't be able to sit for a week.

Peak hours came and went, and my only troubles were trying to convince a bunch of wasteland bastards to drag Jericho's drunk ass home. No-one ever listened to me, and it was usually Moriarty who found some poor dick to take Jericho home, so I had a hard time. I never really succeeded, actually; Jericho got offended that I was trying to get people to drag him out by his collar, and he stormed off himself, cursing me up and down, muttering death threats as he went. I'm surprised he didn't just deck me one while he was in front of me, but Jericho was known to have a scatterbrain when he was drunk. Probably went home to get some sort of gun to shoot me with, lost his train of thought on the way back, and passed out on his floor, nuzzling into a puddle of his own puke. That's a pretty funny picture to imagine, actually.

In any case, everyone in the bar chit-chatted about the gun fight that happened at the front of town all night, but no-one asked about Nova. Not even her regulars seemed to care. Nova took the back burner when it came to raider attacks, I guess. I started to feel like her and I were put on the same page at that point.

Anyway, by one in the morning, most people were still there, but I knew they'd be gone in about half an hour. I heard Moriarty come down the stairs, and I busied myself making a drink, just in case I let the urge to blurt out "is she all right?" escape me before I could stop myself. When he got to the bottom, he moved towards the back, as usual, and I half expected him to keep going into his office without saying a thing to me.

"All right," he boomed, and everyone in the bar seemed to jump at the noise, "everyone clear out. We're closed."

There were several whines of protest from most of the patrons, but I saw a settler and Burke simply get up and walk calmly towards the door as soon as Moriarty bellowed his first syllable. The drink I'd just poured was for Moira Brown (she came in once in a blue moon after she closed up shop), and she sighed dramatically, looking at the Nuka-Cola and rye with a resigned sadness.

"Next time, I guess," she said in her airy voice, then put the caps on the counter for the drink anyway. She slid off the stool, then walked out of the store with slumped shoulders and shuffling feet. She reminded me of me—that's how I walked most of the time.

"That means you," Moriarty continued to bark as Moira started to leave, waving his hands at one of the traders at the bar like he was some sort of stray dog, "get the fuck out!"

A few people started to leave the bar with angry faces, muttering about going to _The Brass Lantern_ instead. A few people had the same faces on, but they stayed glued to their seats, some glaring at Moriarty, some glaring at me.

Moriarty growled in frustration, then pulled his pistol from his hip. "Don't make me do to you what I did to those lousy raiders this morning!" he howled, cocking the gun and pointing it to some guy at a nearby table. With that, everyone who'd been lallygagging with sour expressions jumped to their feet and rushed for the door. Moriarty came from behind the counter, following the last patron. As soon as the girl got through the door, Moriarty slammed the door closed, then threw the locks down.

"Fucking no-good Wasteland shit heads..." Moriarty grumbled, then turned around to me. I was starting to clean up the empty bottles and cups on the counter, and I kept my head down, but I was watching him. I thought he'd start blowing out hot air at me, complaining about something I was doing in my job, but he groaned to himself instead, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Jericho went home drunk, didn't he?" Moriarty asked through his fingers. I just nodded. "Fuck... ah, alright. Here's the thing, Gob: Nova's not right, she's in pretty bad shape. I don't want her spending the night by herself, else she might drown in her own vomit, or shake herself off the bed and hit her head, or something. I was going to ask Jericho to stay with her, since I'm dead fucking tired, but I want you to do it. I suppose I could trust a eunuch like you over Jericho to watch Nova, eh?" With that, he chuckled, the most amused expression crossing his face. I would've been angry at any other time with him making wise cracks, but what he was asking me to do... well, it made me really nervous, but kind of excited at the same time, the kind of excitement that little kids have when they know they're going to get their first gun or something.

"She's in the guest room. Just make sure that when she pukes, she gets it in the bucket, or you'll be cleaning it up. If she needs something, get it for her, and all that sort of butler bullshit."

"Sure thing, Mister Moriarty." Holy shit. I felt like someone lit a fire under my ass, and I was torn between running away from it and sitting in its warmth. I'd be sleeping in the same room as Nova (well, I wasn't so sure about how much sleep I'd actually be getting), and that was pretty enticing, but not having anything to show for a sense of self esteem left me worried that Nova'd be repulsed when she woke up lying next to me. At that point, I started thinking, _she's not feeling well, she needs someone to watch her, that's all it is_, over and over in my head, like it was a fucking chant, just to calm myself down.

"Well, get going!" Moriarty barked, then started towards the counter. He'd be sleeping in his office tonight. It wasn't as hot as it had been lately, but he was probably just trying to get away from Nova for a while. I knew he cared about her just the slightest bit, but he was probably through trying to aim her puke into the bucket like her head was a gun, and wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

"Oh, and try not to bother me tonight," he added, clapping a hand down on my shoulder as he passed. "I need my beauty sleep."

When the door closed, I tried to make my way to the stairs, but my feet were planted to the ground. I was probably too nervous to move. It sounds so ridiculous, but... I hadn't shared a bed with a woman in thirty or so years, and I wasn't too certain about doing it now. Especially now that I looked like a corpse.

Moriarty was probably listening for my footsteps, because he kicked his door, and I started off at the noise. I was going at a pretty brisk pace, but once I started up the stairs, I got slower and slower. When I got to the top though, I could see Nova sprawled on the bed, her head buried in the sheets, shaking like she'd been ditched somewhere in the desert in the middle of the night with no clothes. She looked so... vulnerable. I'd never seen that side of Nova before. She was always putting on the tough chick act, proving to everyone that she was as hard as steel, and no sort of shit could or would ever get to her. Then, there she was, sprawled out on the bed like some sort of sick newborn, and I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

I climbed the rest of the stairs, then walked quietly into the room, looking her over. We didn't have much for lighting in the saloon, but the lamp hanging above the walkway just outside the door was on, and it gave me enough light to see her. Moriarty or Jericho had taken off her boots, her stockings, and her gloves, and she looked really weird without them on, like she might as well have been naked. Her one hand clutched the sheets next to her face, and her legs kept twitching up toward her, like she was trying to squeeze herself into the fetal position, but couldn't. I stood there in the doorway, watching her for a while, before I moved closer. I didn't know what to do, actually. She was on the double bed, so I could've easily slipped around to the other side, but... it was nerve-racking to even think about doing that. I could see the bucket that Moriarty had mentioned sitting at the side of the bed, and I could see projectile puke splattered along the inside.

Just as I was looking at it, she groaned into her sheets, the sound muffled, and her body squirmed around slightly, like she was trying to pull herself to the edge of the bed. She made this sick sounding sort of gasp, which I recognized immediately—it was the same noise a lot of patrons made before they spewed their day's secrets all over the catwalk outside the saloon. I rushed over to her, and without thinking, I helped her to the edge of the bed, then scooted the bucket closer. The vomit inside sloshed around, waves lapsing over each other, trying to show off just how much she'd puked in the day. I didn't pay much attention to it; instead, I held her head at a comfortable angle, and she started to barf. There couldn't have been much left in her stomach, but from the volume of the bucket, it looked like she was a bottomless pit, like Jericho had said. She puked twice, then stopped. She was panting once she finished, and every once in a while, she'd intake a sharp bout of air, sucking in like her life depended on it. It was Jet withdrawal, alright.

Her head was like dead weight in my hand, and it started to get heavier after five minutes of her hanging over the bed. "Nova?" I said quietly, trying to see if she was still awake, not willing to actually wake her up. She didn't jolt or make any noise, so I couldn't tell if she was actually asleep or if she was just too weak to answer. But then she answered my question—her hand groped upwards, then latched onto my wrist that was holding her up. Her grip was so frail, and her fingers felt like bones, and that all would have worried me, but I realized at that moment that I'd never really made physical contact with her before. Ever since I turned into a ghoul, I'd only had brief moments of contact with smoothskins. Just then, I realized I was holding her head in my hands, and she was holding onto my wrist like it was a lifeline. Her skin was cold compared to mine, and it felt really nice. I was lost in that thought for only a split second though, 'cause then I realized that her hand was also doused in sweat, and it reminded me that she was in a really rough shape.

I stood there, bent over her, holding her head while she held my wrist, just wishing I could suck out all the hurt from her. With a light tug, she pulled down on my wrist, and her body shifted slightly, like she was trying to get closer to me. I noticed again that she was shivering a lot, and she was probably feeling very cold. I was still really fucking nervous about getting on the bed, and I shuffled my feet a little bit before I even tried to make myself move.

I moved her head back onto the bed where it'd been before (the entire time I was there, I never actually saw her face), and I knelt down to untie my boots. My movements were shaky and a little too fast, like I was some sort of virgin diving into the sack well before my time. I stepped on my heels and pulled my feet out of my boots, then kicked them aside. I stood there by the bed, looking down at Nova while she shivered uncontrollably, before I moved to the other side. I slipped onto the sheets (which felt pretty damn luxurious—I'd never slept on bedding), then hesitated. I was lying on my side, facing Nova's back, wondering if I should get close and try to warm her up or not. I couldn't tell if she was _actually_ cold or not, considering it was pretty warm in the saloon, and the sheets were twisted around her here and there. I was also convinced that she'd pull away from me, so I shouldn't even have bothered. So I ended up lying there for a couple of minutes, considering my options, when she started to shake a bit more violently.

She moaned painful sounding noises, and them being stifled by the sheets only made me feel worse for her. Again, before I could even think on what I was doing, I shimmied closer to her, wrapping my arm around her middle and holding her close. She was vibrating like an old generator, and I had to tighten my grip to make sure she wouldn't fall off the bed or do something else that would hurt her. It went on for about a few minutes, and as she started to relax a bit, I realized again that I was touching her, except this time it was a little bit more personal for her liking, or so I assumed. I felt sheepish and stupid, and I pulled my arm back from her as if I'd burned her or something. I didn't shimmy away from her, though, and she didn't try to move away, either. I didn't think she could move if she wanted to, but then she recoiled into herself a bit, then buried herself deeper into me.

It goes without saying that I was pretty fucking shocked. I was like an animal that was held at gunpoint, then passed up for no particular reason at all. Then, her voice trembling and all, Nova said: "put your arm back."

I didn't. Not at first, anyway. I was too stunned to do anything. After a while, though, I started to bring my arm back, and I gently draped it over her. Her hand that'd been clutching the sheets went back to my wrist, and she clung to it weakly again. It was weird; all at once, I was feeling pretty lucky, but I was also feeling anxious, like I needed to get the hell out of there as soon as I could. Soon enough, though, Nova's shaking and irregular breathing started to settle, and she was asleep. I lay awake for a really long time, staring at the back of her head with wide eyes, trying to figure out if what was happening was real or not. After about an hour, I started to drift off, and the sweet sweaty smell of Nova's flaming red hair was all I could remember. It was pretty relaxing, actually. I'd never had a more restful night's sleep before then.

* * *

I woke up rather slowly, my brain taking its time getting into gear. The first thing that hit me was the smell of Nova's hair. I inhaled a bit, trying to get as much of it in my lungs as possible. Then I opened my eyes, and saw her lying next to me. After that, I realized that she was still spooning her, and my arm was draped over her middle. I was horrified of that until I realized she was snuggled into me still. I started to pull back away from her, but then I stopped. I relaxed for a moment again, resting my head back on the mattress. It'd been so long, I didn't remember what it was like to lay like that.

The upside and the downside to Nova's working room was that the walls didn't have holes in them. It kept the sun from shining into our faces in the morning. For me, that was damning. While I was lying there, breathing in Nova's hair, I started to wonder what time it was. With that, I snapped up in bed, and everything froze for a couple of seconds. Oh, _fuck_, no.

I leapt out of the bed, not stopping to see if I'd accidentally woken up Nova, and I yanked on my boots sloppily before I flew into the hall. From where I stood, I could see the saloon's fan spinning lazily, bringing in fresh (fresher, that is) air. In between the wings of the fan, I could see sunlight pouring through, but it was late sunlight. Too late. Oh, fucking _Christ_, I was late for opening.

I clambered down the stairs, trying desperately to stay quiet, hoping to God that Moriarty was still sleeping. When I got to the bottom, I dashed across the floor to the door, ripping the locks open a little harsher than I should have (they were getting old; they'd probably fall apart at any minute). When I threw the door open, I found myself face to face with six thirsty, really fucking pissed patrons.

"Get lost in the sheets or something?" a familiar trader asked, then pushed past me. Everyone one else gave me looks with varying degrees of disgust as they marched in, and I kept mumbling "sorry" as they went by. After they filed in, I closed the door, then made my way over to the counter to start making drinks for the short line that'd formed. I started with the trader that was first in line, giving him a short glass of whiskey, then reached under the counter for Lucy's water. When I stood up again, Moriarty came out of his office. I felt my blood turn to ice.

"This a party or something?" Moriarty grumbled groggily as he shuffled across the floor, "you all decide to show up at once?"

"'Been piling up since eight," the trader snapped, "you were supposed to be open."

If I had any sort of balls left, I would've punched the motherfucker in the nose, but I didn't. I didn't even have the gall to snap at him. I slowed my hands a bit, but I tried to keep up my pace. That usual dread started to spread out from the pit of my stomach; I knew I'd be in for a beating, and he probably didn't have the decency to wait until the saloon was clear.

"That so?" Moriarty said simply, sounding intrigued. He was standing behind me, and I could feel his eyes boring into my back. I looked up at Burke, and without waiting for the order, I started making his scotch on ice, but my mind was thinking on how much shit I was in, not on my shaking hand pouring Burke's stupid fucking drink. I was doomed.

Moriarty came up beside me, and to my surprise, he leaned forward on the counter, looking to Billy Creel, then he said: "what can I get you?" He started to pour Billy's usual whiskey and Nuka-Cola, and I felt myself squirm in my boots. Moriarty helping with the customers was unheard of. My first thought was that he was doing it simply so that he'd be able to beat the crap out of me sooner, which was more likely true. After the last glass was handed off to the last customer, Moriarty leaned against his fists at the bar beside me, and I stood ramrod straight, trying not to shuffle my feet nervously.

"A word, Gob," he said, pointing his head towards his office without looking at me. "Now."

As soon as the words left his mouth, I started turning towards the door obediently. It reminded me of a kid I'd seen in the saloon a few years back; he'd spilled his Nuka-Cola by accident, then cursed out loud. His dad, some traveling Wasteland merchant, got up out of his seat and rounded the table, glaring his son down angrily. I saw the kid get up out of his seat, this twisted expression of fear and apology on his face, before he bent over slightly, giving his dad just the right vantage to spank him a couple times. That kid knew he was going to get punished even before the moment was over, and he didn't even try to fight the pain that was coming; he made things easier for the punisher instead. Right then, I was that kid. I wouldn't be as lucky to come out with just a spanking, though.

Moriarty didn't even close the door before his hands clamped down on my shoulders. With a guttural growl, he threw me into the wall, and my head _thunk_ed against the rusty, grating metal before he tossed me down to the floor. I was a little stunned, but I could still get away. I didn't, though; I never did anything that opportunity offered. Moriarty kicked me in the stomach, and I felt like all the air had been stolen, leaving an aching feeling in my chest along with the sharp pain in my gut.

I thought Moriarty might strike up some sort of monologue, explaining why he was going to kick the shit out of me, but then he kicked me in the face. A hole bunch of little dots pricked behind my eyes, kind of like sparks flying off a piece of flint scraped against the wall. I think I might've yelped a bit, or made some sort of pathetic noise, because Moriarty scoffed. I heard his feet shift as he wound his boot back to kick me in the face again, and I flinched. He put his foot back down.

"You didn't even tie your boots," he noted, grumbling angrily. "You wake up late again, I break your legs."

Yeah, I didn't doubt it. Fifteen years of this shit, and I _never_ woke up late. Not once. I always had light shining in my face, so it was impossible to sleep in. Never again. This sort of thing wasn't bound to happen twice. In fact, what happened the night before would probably never even happen again.

"If you're not back in the bar in five minutes, I'm coming back for round two."

He walked out, and I started to force myself to my feet. I was breathing normally again, but I still felt like someone ripped a hole in my chest. My head was throbbing all over to boot, and it took me a good long minute to actually get to my feet.

To be honest, even though that was the most harsh (and the most shortest) beating I'd had in a while, I couldn't stop the thought _it was worth it_ from coming up into my mind. I could remember the way Nova felt under my arm, pressed up against my middle, the way her hair smelled of peace and freedom...

My chest started to ache more, and I drowned those dead end thoughts. It made my feet heavier as I shuffled out to the bar.

As soon as I walked into the dingy saloon, everyone's heads snapped away from me, like they were embarrassed that I existed. I was pretty embarrassed of myself, too, but Id've expected them to stare and scoff and such. Them looking away was almost like pity. It was worse than their contempt. Anyway, Moriarty had gone up the stairs, from what I could tell, so I didn't have to face him for a good long while. But, sitting at the bar was my second all time favourite bastard. The kid had probably come into _Moriarty's _sometime between my beating and my shameful recovery. When I looked at him, he was looking right back at me, and he never looked away. I caved after a second, though, and I let my eyes dart away from his face. From the corner of my eye, I saw him give a short, lopsided shrug.

"It happens," he muttered, so that only I could hear. I didn't give him any sort of acknowledgment that I'd heard him, though. He was totally unreadable, unlike most of the shit heads that came to and lived in Megaton. I couldn't tell you what his intentions were; if he actually cared about anyone or anything, or if he planned everything he said and did ahead of time for some grand scheme he had plotted for himself. That's why I ignored him, turned on autopilot, then asked—

"Whad'you need?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_So, about wine: it's usually not tasty after forty years. But for some reason, Fallout likes to pass around the bottles anyway. Old wines are collectibles, but they probably just taste like vinegar. Anyway, that being said, I'ma stick with Fallout's fantasy and pretend wine is okay to drink._

_Thanks to Dee Troit for being my beta. We're beta buddies now you know._

Chapter Five

When I came to, the pain hit me like a bag full of brahmin shit. The day before was just a blur of puke and agony, but I could still tell that what I was feeling now was a lot less painful than it was a few hours before. Not to mention that I could tell my head from my ass now, and I was a little more in touch with reality. But that didn't help me ignore the white hot burning in my throat that screamed for some Jet. Oh, fuck, all I wanted to do was get some Jet. It would make all this go away so easily, and I wouldn't be sucked into that void again—

I inhaled sharply, and my lungs raged at me. That was air I was breathing, not Jet. It hurt not to breathe Jet.

"Nova?" I heard a haggard voice whisper. It was crackling, like the sound of blood boiling and popping on the metal catwalk on a scorcher of a day, but hearing it was like being carried off in a warm breeze.

I squinted my eyes open, and a thin, blurry line of dusty room and messy sheets was all I could see. Then I saw a shape bend down next to the bed in front of my face, and he said again: "Nova?"

"Hey, sugar," I croaked to Gob. I might've tried to grin, but my lips were numb. I could remember making an "O" shape with them a few times during the night, hoping someone might pop an inhaler into my mouth if I did, like a bird feeding its babies, so I wasn't so sure how well my mouth could form a smile.

"You need anything?" he asked.

I needed Jet, but I stopped myself from moaning out its name to him. I didn't care if he gave me shit for it, but I knew it'd only make things worse for me if I asked, because I knew I wouldn't get any, and it would make the ache double. I inhaled sharply again, let the burn prick at my lungs, then said: "water."

"Sure thing," he said gently, then he reached out to squeeze my shoulder. "I'll be right back."

The moment he touched me, I remembered a part of the night that'd been in the dark until that point. During the night, I could remember waking up for a few seconds at a time, feeling someone warm holding me, making me feel... contented, maybe? I wasn't exactly sure what I felt, but it was fuzzy and warm, and I loved being there. Every time I woke up in a cold sweat and felt that person behind me, I fell back asleep before I could even wonder who it was. When Gob squeezed my shoulder, I recognized the familiar warmth, and I knew it was him.

The first thing I felt was shame. Well, I thought it was shame, but it was more likely embarrassment. I'd like to say it was because I was Nova, tough-as-nails, no-nonsense bitch, who never needed a cuddling from anyone (considering I'd never gotten that intimate with anyone over the years), but it wasn't. It was because I knew it was Gob I was pressed up against, and I was a little less than thrilled with the idea. I hated myself for feeling sick like I did, but I couldn't drown the feeling that I'd thought I was being kept warm by the kid, and not the skin-rotted bartender that I'd known for oh so many years. Actually, while I was sifting through waking and sleeping, I really did think the kid was there. I was fantasizing that he was, anyway. It was pathetic.

While I thought on Gob as a sweetheart, I... I didn't want to be that close to him again. Not if I could help it. He was a good guy, but the idea of getting up close and personal with him was just weird. Beyond all that though, underneath all the burning, sickness, and embarrassment, I couldn't deny that Gob holding me all night really did make me feel better.

He walked away through the door, and I strained my eyes to watch him go. I felt like such a bitch, but the thought popped up in my head that through blurry, slitted eyes, Gob looked like an attractive man, like how Jericho would find anyone as a hot piece of ass after oh so many whiskeys. I inhaled sharply again. Fuck everything.

I tried to sit up, just to see if I could do it. It took me a while—everything was spinning; it felt like the entire saloon was being thrown around—but once I did, I could open my eyes a little more without it hurting, and my attention was immediately drawn to the bucket of vomit on the floor.

It looked to be half full, with little bits of splatter lining the sides. I'd somehow managed to get all of it in the bucket; there weren't any spots on the floor or on the bed. Gob must've aimed my head like it was a gun, making sure I got sick in the right places. He seemed to be doing that for me everyday of my life: making sure I could get myself into gear to do my job, making sure I got it all right on the first try, just with those stupid little smiles of his. I wondered if I did that for him. Probably not. You can't help an old brahmin live out the rest of its days knowing there's nothing left for him to look forward to except death. God, my throat was just _aching _for some Jet....

Gob came back in the room, a bottle of sparkling purified water in his hand. Colin hoarded that stuff like it was gold, so I was a little surprised to see it in his hand. Actually, in the faint light coming into the saloon, the water kind of looked like a diamond, it was sparkling so much. I watched it for a few seconds, then looked up to Gob's eyes. I could see a faint smile on his lips, and the light coming off the bottle reflected on his face. I almost didn't notice the bruises and cuts through all the glitter.

"Jesus Christ, Gob," I slurred, "what the Hell did you do?"

You might think that's a weird question to ask, that I should've phrased it: "what happened to you?" but I knew better. I knew that Colin got pissed off at Gob regularly, but it took something damning for him to get the shit kicked out of him. That's why I knew he'd screwed up something mighty important.

"I slept in."

Oh, God, it was worse than I thought. Gob should've been a pile of bones all over the saloon floor for pulling that. Colin must've gotten a good night's sleep or something, considering he was apparently merciless. Gob was still grinning though, and I felt something twist in my stomach when I realized he was probably thinking: _it was worth it. _I felt bad for even thinking it, but it was true that I thought it was creepy. I tried to stop myself from inhaling again, and it came off like a failed hiccup.

"Take a sip," he said, twisting the cap off for me. I took the bottle from him, but my fingers brushed his, and I pretty much yanked it from him out of recoil. I felt bad the moment I did it, and I felt worse once I saw his face. It looked more shattered than it had before, and he shuffled back from me slightly, darting his eyes away from my face.

"Sorry," he mumbled, but I knew he didn't know what he was apologizing for. I didn't either. He was probably used to apologizing to everyone all the time for being who he was. I felt the urge to inhale build up in me again, and I tried to fight it off so hard, but it came anyway.

"Nova, dear," Colin chimed as he climbed the steps. My mood only sunk further into the shit hole when I heard him calling my name, and I felt my lips twist into a frown when I saw his white head bobbing over the steps as he got closer. I felt like shit, and seeing him only made me feel worse.

"You on the mend?" he asked me as Gob shuffled backwards out of his way, and I took a gulp of water to bide my time before I forced the sweetest smile I could.

"Seems that way," I said lamely.

"Good," he said, clapping his hands together. "Business took a small dive yesterday, so we could use you back out on the field. I'll send you out for a shower, then you can get back to work."

Colin must've figured that if I could sit up and talk without spewing puke all over the place, then I could certainly fuck a guy silly for caps. I didn't feel like I was in any condition to do any sort of work, but I couldn't say no to him, not if I wanted to get exiled from Megaton. "Sure thing, Sugar."

"All right," Colin said, giving me a lopsided grin. Then he did something I never would have suspected—he turned to Gob, smacked his shoulder playfully, then said: "make sure Nova gets to the showers, will you?"

If I felt ashamed before, I was fucking humiliated now. Not only was I Gob's personal teddy bear for the night, but now he'd be standing by the door while I rubbed off all the filth from my thighs, and I knew he'd be thinking about it while I did it. I'd be lying if I said the idea didn't bother me.

"Sure, Mister Moriarty." Gob's only response to Colin was "yes sir", "absolutely", or something along those lines. But the way he said it this time... I think it was the first favour Gob had ever actually wanted to do for Colin. I had to look away to avoid showing how disgusted I was with the whole ordeal. I felt like an old cripple must feel living in some community home with people putting bed pans under their asses and giving them sponge baths. The only difference was that I wasn't old, and a ghoul was going to be practically gawking at me in the shower. Old friend or not, you'd feel weird too if someone who looked like a corpse was watching after your every need like a pet dog.

"Be back in ten," Colin called over his shoulder, then left the room and descended the steps again. I thought seeing Colin made me sour, but when it was just me and Gob in the room, I felt more awkward than I had that time I sucked a John off and he shit the bed.

"You need help getting—"

"No."

"Oh. Okay, well... I'll go get you a clean towel."

I didn't even look at him as he left. I felt like such a bitch. Gob was just being a good friend, helping me out and everything. I knew he'd do it whether Colin asked him to or not. I suppose I was just in a rotten mood all round, considering the tips of my fingers and toes were numb, and my lungs were just _screaming_. I should've just apologized to him right then and there, but I didn't. I was too caught up in my own embarrassment to give any sort of apology.

I eventually stood up, though I was a little shaky, and I went down the stairs to meet up with him at the front door. I really didn't want Gob to follow me to the showers. Hell, I didn't even feel like taking a shower, but I knew Colin wouldn't have me disagreeing with anything. He probably wouldn't have me dealing with Leo either. The fact that I couldn't be trusted to take a shower only added to my wilting self confidence. When Gob came out of Colin's office with a towel, I avoided making eye contact with him as I pushed through the front door, then headed down the catwalk to the women's rest room. Gob had to jog to catch up with me.

"Here's your towel," he said as we got to the door. "I'll wait out here for you."

"Aw, you mean you won't come in with me?" I said sarcastically. My voice was a little darker than it needed to be though, and Gob flinched, looking away.

"Sorry," he said again. I felt bad and annoyed at the same time. I wanted to take him by the shoulders, shake him like a can full of caps, and tell him to stop being sorry for nothing. I settled for just pushing my way into the washroom, leaving him behind on the catwalk to fester in the wound I'd jabbed into his side for no good reason. I thought him being so close to me put me in a bitchy mood, but I think it was how I treated him then that did the trick. I still regret everything I did that day.

* * *

Once we got back to the saloon, Nova started working again. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and spots of water dotted her clothing, but I guess Moriarty was only concerned about her ability to suck out caps from customers, not her appearance. I didn't think she was in any condition to work either; her hands were still shaky, and her eyes darted to the door just about every five seconds. Colin gave her a pack of cigarettes to calm her nerves, but it really wasn't doing much for her, I don't think. You can't snuff a forest fire with a towel.

I recognized the look in her face, too, because I wore it sometimes, but for a different reason. The desperate look in her eyes said she wanted to run out that front door and down the catwalk to get some Jet. Sometimes, I just wanted to run down the catwalk and never come back. We both knew we couldn't do that, though. Moriarty probably paid people to shoot us in the legs or something if we tried to make a run for it. I wouldn't be surprised.

In any case, after about an hour, a few customers cleared out and Moriarty went to the back. There was just Burke and Lucy left in the bar, and even she looked restless, like all she wanted to do was get up and go. But since there wasn't anyone in the bar (anyone to worry about watching, anyway) I waved at Nova to get her attention.

It took about ten seconds of me flinging my hand around in the air for her to notice me. She turned her head real slow, and her eyes seemed to narrow, even though they were still buggy and puffy. I didn't care about any sort of animosity she was feeling towards me then, because I knew she'd brighten once I gave her her gift. At least, I hoped she'd cheer up. Maybe she wouldn't care. She'd probably throw it across the room or something. I guess I really didn't know shit.

"Nova!" I whispered harshly, waving my hand for her to come over again. I saw Lucy glance at us, then look away, something of a bemused grin on her face. I probably did look a little stupid throwing my hand around like a loon and trying to get a girl to come over to me. It didn't bother me though, because in one jagged motion Nova kicked off the wall and staggered over to the counter.

"Gob," Nova greeted lamely and quietly, sucking on her cigarette and blowing the smoke out through her nostrils, making her look sinister. "You need something?"

"Listen, I was thinking about this for a couple of weeks, but I finally decided to go through with it. I had Billy Creel buy something for me from Doc Hoff. It wasn't cheap, but—"

I saw Nova's eyes light up like Christmas lights, and I was wondering why she seemed so excited when I realized that she thought I'd bought some drugs from him. That was Doc Hoff's major stock, I guess, so I couldn't blame her from jumping to conclusions, but I felt a little disappointed all the while.

"Gob, you..." she breathed, and she put her cigarette down in the ash tray so that she could wrap her arms around herself tightly. She looked at Lucy to make sure she wasn't listening, then made sure no one else was in earshot before she leaned a bit closer to me and said: "you bought me some Jet?"

I didn't say anything, but I wrenched my eyes away from hers. I never heard her speak like that to me, nor did she ever give me such an intense look. I felt like a bashful teenager for a second, but when I muttered "no," her face crumbled like a dust ball in the wind. She leaned back against the wall again, then picked up her cigarette, her hands shaking even more. "Oh."

Here I pulled out my own smoke. I didn't do it often, really, but there were some moments that just stressed me right out, and taking a few drags seemed like the best idea. I would've stuffed four in my mouth if that seemed appropriate. I lit it with my dwindling pack of matches, then took a short drag before leaning on the counter and continuing.

"It put a dent in my savings, but I knew it was something you'd find useful," I said, my voice lacking the skip it had in it before. I reached under the counter, wrapped my hand around the neck of the wine bottle, then started to come back up. The moment I grabbed the wine, the door opened again—but I didn't notice—and once I put the bottle on the counter, my small smile of glee wiped right off my face when I noticed she was staring at the door, and right there was Mister Too Fucking Perfect himself, staring right back at her.

Of all the fucking shittiest, lousy things to happen, this—

"Nova," the kid said, strolling over to the bar so smoothly, I could basically hear the skip in Nova's breath, "you're feeling better."

Not a question, a statement. It reminded me of how Moriarty just declared she was fit for work again, not asking her if she was. My hand squeezed the bottle of wine like I was wringing my hands around his neck, choking him for all he was worth.

"Yeah," she said, taking one last long drag from her smoke before snuffing it out. "All better, sugar." It killed any sort of hope I'd had about cheering her up that afternoon. In fact, her snuffing out her cigarette was like her saying: "Sorry Gob, I've got more enticing people to fuck right now. Can your random act of kindness wait indefinitely for me?"

I felt my shoulders slump a bit, but I fought to make sure no one noticed my disappointment. I lowered the bottle back below the bar again, and when I came up, the kid was already dropping the caps in her hand.

"Mind if you keep me company upstairs for a while?"

"Anything for you, honey," Nova purred as if she wasn't feeling sick at all. Then, without even looking at me for a reassuring smile, she sauntered off towards the stairs, swinging her tail a little too dramatically for my tastes, and the kid followed up after her. I felt so fucking angry, but when she didn't look at me, it wasn't rage I was feeling. It felt worse than when Moriarty beat the crap out of me. It felt like she'd dragged a knife across my chest without the slightest bit of remorse. In a way, that's sort of what she did.

After I heard the familiar bed springs squeak again, I felt myself being dragged down into something else than the usual anger I'd been having lately. Instead, I felt absolutely miserable. Nova didn't even remember I was there once that kid walked in. I realized that as long as he came around, I wouldn't be as important to her as I used to be. I went to wiping down the counter top again, scrubbing vigorously at stains that weren't there, trying and failing to pull myself out of my gloomy attitude.

Then the worst thing happened. For the first time in—ever, really, I heard Nova moan. I mean, sure, she'd make an effort to gasp and whatever for a John, just to give him a pride boost, but... the sound she made was genuine, like she wasn't a hooker at all, but a woman getting fucked silly by some guy she was passionate about. I felt the knife drag across my chest again once I realized that she really was passionate about him, that she really was a woman with him and not just some whore. I felt myself lean against the counter heavily, and I fell deeper and deeper into my shit hole of despair. That's when I realized that I cared for Nova more than I would a friend.

I knew that I should practice what I preach and just snuff my ideas before they got anywhere, but the difference between Nova's infatuation with this kid and my affection for her was that she knew from the get go that she liked him, whereas I only realized what was happening to me after it was too late. I sighed heavily at the counter, and closed my eyes for a bit. I thought she was screwed before, letting herself get infatuated with some John, but at least she got to tango with him whenever he wanted. Me, on the other hand....

If my life seemed shitty before, it got about twice as worse when I realized that I cared for someone that'd never care that I was even there.

* * *

I didn't think it would work like this, but when I was with the kid, Jet got pushed to the back of my mind. Even while I was lying there next to him with his arm wrapped around my shoulders, I didn't feel the urge to suck in a bout of air, or to run down the stairs to Andy's to deal with Leo. I lit another smoke, and as I blew out another murky cloud, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. I was really enjoying myself.

"Simms offered me a job here," the kid said slowly and quietly, like he was contemplating it as he spoke. I shifted my head towards him to study him sideways.

"What kind of job?"

"Sentry," he mumbled, scratching his scalp. "Said I was a pretty good shot. Offered me the empty house by the front gate."

I felt my lips twitch in a smile, and I felt this vague excitement growing in the back of my mind that he'd always be in town. "Think you'll take it?" I tested.

"I don't know. I was thinking of starting a trade route, but there's a lot of competition. Maybe I'd be happier as a freelance merc."

And there the excitement started to crash and burn. "Whatever brings in the caps, I guess." Wasn't too far from home in my books.

"Yeah, wouldn't be so bad..."

He started breaking into quiet chuckles, and I grinned, stealing a glance at him. He hand his hand over his eyes, and he was flashing his bright white teeth.

"What?" I laughed with him, putting my cigarette in the ash tray. He finally calmed down, then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"If you were to tell me last week that I'd be shooting up shit in a post-apocalyptic wasteland for money, which happened to be caps, I would've told you to fuck off."

With that, he laughed harder, and I laughed with him. "Sounds a little fucked up."

"So does living in a hole in the ground your whole life, I guess."

"I guess."

"What about your job?" he asked, dropping his hand and looking at me. "Don't you think your life is just fucked?"

"That supposed to be a play on words?"

He hummed for a second. "Didn't think of it that way. But really, I just mean that you—even Gob—have a real shit situation lined up."

I nodded shortly, then I said, "I guess," again.

There was a short pause, and I could feel him looking at me, as if he were trying to decide whether or not to say something. I took a long drag on my smoke.

"Have you ever worked with him?"

I scrunched my eyebrows, trying to figure out what he was talking about. "What?"

"Gob," he said more plainly, looking at the ceiling. "have you ever fucked him?"

I felt a little stunned at this. The guy was just too forward, too straight to the point. Of course I'd never worked with Gob, but my voice caught in my throat because I was just so caught up in the idea—the fucked up idea—of "working" with Gob. I stammered a bit, then took another drag of my cigarette to stall.

"No?"

"No. I mean, he's a sweetheart and all, but... he's a co-worker."

"That all?"

Nova paused. "I've never thought of him that way. Honestly, if I did, I probably wouldn't keep my lunch in."

"I don't know," the guy said, unconvinced. "I won't pretend I know you two, but I think he's the best thing you've got going on in here."

I scrunched my nose a bit, squeezed my eyes shut, then coughed out a laugh. "'Best thing'? There's no 'thing' going on with us. Gob's just a coworker."

"Looks like Moriarty gives him shit for being a ghoul," he said, looking at me only briefly, "but it seems like you won't give him a chance because it's the thing to do."

"Excuse me?"

"He was trying to give you a pretty nice bottle of wine when I got here," the kid said, pulling his arm from under my head. "Did you notice?"

"What?"

He studied me for a second, but he didn't look accusing. He had this warm lopsided grin on his face. "I think you're so used to shutting everything out that you forgot to let some people in once in a while," he said. "Gob looks like a piece of shit, but he's the only one in this town that isn't actually one."

I stared at him, a little unsure of how I was supposed to react.

"You remember that raider we trapped after that attack yesterday?"

I nodded.

"I mean, sure, she's a raider, and she deliberately attacked the town, but everyone seems keen on feeding her to the fucking dogs. They're not giving her a chance, like they're almighty and their opinions are the only wholesome ones. I'm not claiming to be a saint, but one of the only things that I agreed on with my dad was that nobody in this world has the right to decide who gets punished and how. Everyone in this town pretends like they're in the right, like they've got some merit to their name, but this place is a fucking cesspool. That girl should've been let go, or something. Simms did keep her tied up and comfy for a while, but she turned up dead just a couple of hours ago. You can't exactly do yourself in when your hands are tethered behind your back, can you?"

I was staring at him, slack-jawed. I wasn't exactly sure how to respond. Hell, I didn't know how our conversation went for such a turn.

"That's part of the reason why I don't want to bunk up here. But seriously, trust me when I say that Gob's the only decent human being I've met here, and I think he's a little soft when it comes to you."

I still didn't say anything. How the hell are you supposed to respond to something like that?

He shook his head, then got up out of the bed. "Just a suggestion, really. You don't seem like you're jumping for joy in a place like this."

He moved to pick up his pants, and I tried desperately to save my business. "Next hour half price, if you're interested."

He looked back at me with a sly grin as he pulled his pants up, but he shook his head. "I'll just tip big next time."

Well, fuck. I sighed a little, though I tried to stifle it a bit. I got up from the bed, snatching up my skirt and jacket.

"Thanks for listening, Nova," he said as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I think that if I wasn't just your customer, we'd hit it off."

I pretended to humour him, but I actually liked the idea. "You think so, sugar?"

"Yeah, no-one else'll just listen to me ramble like some fucking loon," he said, stepping into his boots. "You're the only one that's kept me company since I got kicked out."

"Anytime."

"Hah," he laughed, snapping his belt in place. "I'll pretend you mean that."

I'd never talked to someone that seemed to see everything that was going on. The weird thing was that he seemed to care while being detached at the same time. It was the same kind of thing I did when I worked with men. In fact, most customers yakked about some worthless shit or other, but every word this kid said seemed meaningful. And the shit he said about Gob... I felt like someone just cracked me open in the middle of the bar for everyone to see, then pointed to my insides, describing everything about my life that I'd never noticed before. He said he didn't want to pretend he knew Gob and me, but he seemed to sum of five years of our relationship with a few words. I always hated the way Colin treated the poor guy, but... I wasn't any better.

I started to feel guilty, the burn in my lungs came back, and I overall just started to feel like shit again. It was like sleeping with this kid was my drug, and the moment it was over marked my withdrawal. When I turned to him, though, I gave my customary grin.

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said, dropping a few more caps in my hand, then he walked out the door. I looked at them. Thirty cap tip. Not bad.

I sighed to myself, then finished dressing. That kid sure had a nasty talent for putting things into perspective when I didn't want to see it.


	6. Chapter 6

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Six

The last time I was human, I used to see this nice girl named Polly. She wasn't the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but she was something else to me. We had a lot in common, really. We were both pretty quiet, shy, conscious of how we looked—that sort of thing. I can't remember exactly how long it's been since then; I usually default at thirty or so years. I'm not a pre-war ghoul, so keeping track of time for me is a little more difficult without a calendar, or without an actual interest in time, for that matter.

Anyway, the difference between the second last and the last time I saw Polly was as stark as night and day. I'm not sure where the fear and hate of ghouls first originated—our looks or from the ferals—but after a few of us got sick from drinking too much irradiated water and I started to lose my hair and skin while everyone else was bedridden, they didn't even try to treat me. I was chased out of our little Shit-hole Ville so fast that my legs probably could have fallen off with my nose from the abuse I put them through. The few days before that happened, I was spending the day with Polly number crunching for the caravans, laughing and goofing around, and the day I was tossed out... I couldn't tell her twisted hateful face from the rest of them.

The first time Nova came into Moriarty's, I could tell she was scared shitless of me. It was pretty easy to tell. I knew she was making an effort to hide it, mainly because she avoided making eye contact with me and tended to put on this blank, stupefied expression, kind of like a failed poker face of horror. Even then, it was the least bit of negative social activity I'd had in a while (Moriarty didn't tend to be bothered by my looks, but he was a bigger ass to me than most were to begin with) and I warmed to her pretty quickly. Eventually we started talking, and the crappy cover-up expression started to fade into something comfortable. Withdrawn, nonplussed maybe, but comfortable. After Carol taking me in and thinking of me as her own son, Nova's small chitchat and judgment-free glances were the best things I had going for me.

That's why her blowing me off was only a little disheartening. I couldn't expect much else from her when it came to that shiny, brand-new man with the power of hooker swooning. Nor could I expect my luck would improve any. It was usually at those moments where I was about to get one step closer to friendship that everything blew up in my face. Gob brings up wine bottle, god-like man offers manhood, Nova forgets Gob exists. I'm pretty sure I envisioned that exact thing happening in my mind quite a few times, but that last little ember of hope refused to let me believe it.

He started walking down the steps at a slow pace, then left the saloon. I noticed I was glowering at the door when I heard Nova coming down the steps too, and I ducked my head, trying to wipe the expression off my face. I was looking down at the counter, organizing the beer and Nuka-Cola glasses by the sink, but I was listening intently on her steps. When I heard her pause halfway down, I nearly hesitated in my sorting, almost blowing my cover. I heard something like a sigh come from her, and then she slumped down the rest of the stairs.

"Gob."

I grunted in response, but I didn't look up. I was expecting her to continue, but I guess she took my shallow grumpiness as a sign that I wasn't all too smitten with her at the moment, because she sighed again.

"Gob... sorry he interrupted you. What were you saying?"

I was caught off guard by that, so I hesitated a moment while I recovered. "What? You mean an hour ago? I dunno."

"Come on, Gobbie—" there was that name again— "I... look, I'm not good at conversations like these. I'm... sorry."

I'd stopped organizing the glasses, then I leaned on the counter, giving a sigh of my own. I started looking from side to side, slowly working my sight up until I met her sad, puppy dog eyes. I looked away quickly again—I'd never seen her look like that before, and I was a little nerved.

"For everything," she continued, suppressing one of those Jet hiccups, "for this morning, for being a big, lousy bitch lately, for..." she lowered her voice, "for taking you for granted." She quickly stuffed a cig in her mouth after that, then lit it slowly, trying to buy time until she had to talk again. I was staring at her pretty blatantly, but I didn't make an effort to mask it this time. When she plucked the smoke from her lips, she blew out her breath slowly, looking at the counter from the corner of her eye (instead of having to look at me while I stared at her), then said: "all of that stuff."

I snapped out of my stare (which was probably creeping the hell out of her) then looked to the glasses again, trying desperately to remember just what the hell I'd been doing with them, and how I could busy my hands to try and escape the situation. Not that I was put off by what Nova said—quite the opposite, actually; I was like a blind man who'd seen light for the first time, but there was just too much light for him to be comfortable at the moment. After a couple of seconds, I still couldn't find a job for my hands. "Uh...."

"You mentioned you'd dented your savings," Nova said carefully, flicking her cigarette over the ashtray.

"Uh... yeah," I said, looking around. No-one seemed to be clawing desperately towards the bar for a drink at that moment, so I decided I'd try a second time to give her the wine. My head was still soft and swingy from what she'd said to me in her apology, so it took me a few seconds to connect the dots in my brain and actually reach for the bottle.

"It's that stuff you had last year," I said, pushing it towards her. The label was a little worn, but it was in relatively good condition. There were little pink and purple flowers on either side of the name, which was a little too scratched to read anymore. "You said it made you 'uninhibited'."

I saw her glancing down at the bottle for a long moment, then a crooked smile broke across her lips, and she laughed once. "Yeah, I remember that." She put the cigarette in the ashtray, then picked up the bottle to look at it closer. "I can't believe you bought this, Gobbie."

I shrugged, letting a little smile of my own stretch across my melted face. "I'd do anything for you."

She looked up at me again. Her eyes looked kind of how they did when she was trying to apologize, except there was something more intense behind them. I was going to shoot my eyes off somewhere else again, but I watched her looking at me instead. My grin slowly faded, and her face eventually softened into something more familiar. She was just about to say something else when the door opened up again.

Since it seemed to be the running gag on me, I was expecting that kid to come walking back into the bar. When I looked over to the door though, I saw the familiar hat and duster of Simms coming through the doorway.

He seemed to look all over the bar for a second, like he was hunting prey, then he asked to no-one in particular, "Where is he?"

Nova put the bottle back down on the bar. "Who's 'he' darlin'?"

"Moriarty," he said in the same fashion, looking around the bar like that kid had on the first day he walked in the bar. It gave me an unsettling feeling about the whole thing.

"He's in his office last I checked," I answered, motioning over my shoulder to the door behind me. I half expected him to rush around the counter and go busting in the door head first, the look on his face was so intense. Luckily for me (because I wasn't interested in trying to fend off the sheriff from the door like a brahmin wrangler), Moriarty happened to hear Simms's voice, and came strolling out from the back to meet him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Moriarty said lamely, leaning on the bar next to me. From Simms's point of view, him, Nova and I probably looked like a closely-knit gang, ready to take him on. That was probably Moriarty's intent; he was always finding ways to remind people that he had Megaton by the balls, and all of us should be cowering under his thumb.

"I need to have a word with you."

"Step inside."

Simms walked around the bar, and Nova and I practically watched him go like he was fresh meat or something. For one, Simms rarely came into the saloon unless something big was going on. To boot, he seemed a little more frantic than was usual of him. Not to say he was running around like a radroach with its head lopped off, but he was most definitely nervous.

Simms stepped into Moriarty's office, his death trap, and the door closed behind them. I looked around the bar to make sure no-one was gonna come for a drink, then at Nova; she picked up her cigarette from the ashtray again, and she was giving me a look that said she wanted to eavesdrop, too. That was second nature to my job, anyway.

At the beginning they were making mostly small talk about protocol with the caravans (even though that was mostly Billy's department). I guess Moriarty did get on the hairy side of a few of the traders, and Simms was trying to get him to ease off. It was like barking at a brick wall, though. Moriarty wouldn't pussy out to anyone like that.

Then the conversation struck gold. "So, Simms, you've been beating around the bush. Is there an actual reason you came to Megaton's armpit to see me?"

"I suppose I should've gotten to that from the start," he admitted. "Raider girl I had shacked up in my house turned up dead this morning."

Nova was close enough to the bar to hear through the flimsy door, too, and while I took on a look of shock, she stayed completely stoic. I took it that she already knew. Probably caught wind of it from that vault asshole.

"That so?"

"Carried her over to Doc Church's—" I bet everyone in town got a kick out of that—"said she'd died of a drug overdose. Psycho."

"Shame. Why the fuck do I care?"

"I had her tethered like some goddamn animal, Moriarty! How the hell did she shoot up if she can't even grip a gun right?"

Nova's face was starting to change. First her eyebrows knit together, then she took the cig out of her mouth slowly, her face crumpling towards the middle. After she let out her breath of smoke, it looked like she'd stopped breathing altogether.

"Girl was a little tough to handle, and I didn't like Harden being around that, but she was starting to get a little more agreeable. Answered every one of our questions without spewing cuss words all over the place eventually. Then Harden and I leave her be for the morning, and when he comes back home, he finds her slumped in her chair like a rag doll."

"Neither of you did it then?"

"Watch it, Moriarty," Simms growled. "Lock on my door is useless now; someone jammed the tumblers."

"So... you're saying someone broke into your house to get a raider fucked over for shits and giggles?"

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying." Simms sounded like his patience was starting to get worn down.

"And you've come to see me about it because...?"

"Because I've got a feeling that kid from Vault 101 has something to do with it."

Nova lowered her smoke to the ashtray, then snubbed it out. She gave another Jet hiccup.

"So? She was a raider."

"And she was under my protection," Simms amended. "Now, I've got an understanding that he comes here every now and again for some business. I want you to keep an eye on him."

"That sounds like charitable work." His voice was lame and bored sounding, and I could almost picture him eying his fingernails suggestively like they were the most interesting thing he'd seen in years.

"Goddammit, Moriarty! Fine, that kid comes back into your saloon, you take notes for me, and I pay you one hundred caps for useful information."

"Why, certainly, sir," Moriarty chimed. "You've got the best team of spies on the job for you." The three of us, spies. I guess I really wasn't that far off.

"All right, then."

"Just an inquiry," Moriarty added, "why would you suspect a saint like him? Didn't he help fend off a horde of raiders?"

Then Simms said something too low for me to hear. I subconsciously leaned in toward the door, trying to pick up what he was saying. Then: "I know you know there's something off about him. Most people show off their morals in black or white, but this kid's all sorts of smudges of grey."

To this, Moriarty said nothing. I looked back at Nova, and she was staring off into space with an expression on her face like she'd just heard someone being murdered.

Simms opened the office door, and I snapped up straight, just realizing that I practically had my head plastered to the door. He gave me this disgusted look of disapproval, then walked on by me and out from behind the bar. I watched him go curiously, and as Moriarty walked by me, he shoved me between the shoulder blades.

"Nice to see you again, Simms," he bellowed cheerfully, like he was putting on a good show of public relations to whoever might've been in the bar at that moment. "Drop by anytime."

Simms grumbled in response, then let the door close a little bit harshly behind him. I went to looking at the arrangement of bottles on the counter again, knowing Moriarty'd be glaring me down. Even when I wasn't guilty of anything, he was glaring me down.

"I suspect I don't need to tell you what your homework is?" he said to the both of us. I didn't say anything. It was mostly out of shame.

"No," Nova said softly. I glanced up at her. She was still shocked shitless.

"Good."

Moriarty then walked out from behind the bar and out of the saloon, probably to stand out on the catwalk like it was his own personal balcony or something. I looked up to Nova, and she folded her arms over herself, hiccuping lightly.

I kind of felt bad for her. I could see that she felt played by that kid, just from the look on her face.

Then I realized that he had a bad habit of not leaving his name.

* * *

It was dead for the rest of the day. I'm not sure if that was a good or a bad thing—I didn't have to screw another dirty Wastelander, but I didn't have anything to take my mind off of what I'd just heard, either. I made small talk with a few regulars and occasionally Gob, but it did nothing to shake off the chill that I felt. Whenever I thought about that kid—man—I felt frightened. I'd certainly jacked off a few murderers in my time, but at least all of them wore their lives on their sleeves. And then there was _him—_I just defaulted to calling him John at some point around that time—who was just as clear as fog. It was easier just to pretend that what I saw on the outside was some simple guy, but now that image was shattered.

I suppose all of that was going off of Simms's assumption that John was a murderer. Sure, she was a raider, but after what he'd said about giving her a chance.... Anyway, like I said, I was being pretty quick to side with Simms's assumption. I didn't even like Simms all that much. But I felt like deep down, I'd always known that he wasn't what he seemed to be. Hell, I'm not sure what he seemed to be in the first place.

It was around nine o'clock that Moriarty came back in the bar and told me to take the night off. He'd been at Moira's buying who knew what for no particular purpose, but he seemed to be in some sort of good mood when he came back to see me. He wasn't one to get high, but it wouldn't be unheard of for Moriarty.

"Been a dead night, Nova," he said, his eyes rolling ever so slightly as he talked. "Have the night to yourself. Been years since you've had that, eh?"

I didn't answer right away, because I had visions of me running through the _Brass Lantern_'s door, buying some Jet, and leaving myself behind...

"Thanks, hon," I finally said. He walked ever so slowly up the stairs and into his room. The moment he was out of eyesight, I looked around for Gob. He'd ducked into the back room, probably to grab some beers from the fridge to stock up in the front. He likely hadn't heard Moriarty. He wouldn't keep me from walking out that door and back into the warm, welcome arms of Jet.

And that's what I did.

I made sure I had enough caps on me for a couple hits before I blew out of the saloon. It was dark outside, but I made my way down that catwalk like I'd been memorizing the path since childhood. The only people out that night were the church folk, so no-one else was around to give me those odd glances and intrusive stares. When I made it to Andy's bar, I opened the door like I was returning home for the first time in years.

There were more people in there than in Moriarty's (granted, their bar was much smaller than ours) and each one of those drunkards turned to look at me. Andy was tending the bar, and he seemed to give me a dirtier glare than I'd ever been given.

"The fuck are you doing here?" he said rudely. There was only one sort of mood with Andy—bitchy. I didn't care though; I was the toughest bitch there was around, and he sure as hell wasn't going to trump me.

"Looking for Leo," I said snidely. "You keeping track of him?"

It was a loaded question; almost everyone seemed to know about Leo's drug problem except his family. I wasn't even sure if Andy was aware of it. He had to have been, though. Where else would Leo get his drug money than his brother's pocket?

Andy stood up, eying me up and down and working his jaw. "Leo!" he shouted. Everyone jumped like a shotgun went off in their ears.

There was a muffled crash from up above, then the sound of scrambling. The sound eventually got closer, and Leo came running down the steps, nearly tumbling over his own feet the whole way.

"What's wrong?" he said, his eyes darting around. They landed on me, and his face suddenly looked like a dying mirelurk's—pale and outright hideous.

"Nova's looking for you," Andy answered angrily, then turned his back to walk to the other side of the bar. Leo kept gawking at me. Man, I thought Gob was pathetic sometimes.

"I want to take a walk."

"Uh... what?"

"Let's go for a walk," I repeated, enunciating each word more slowly and loudly. I felt like my face was getting hot the more everyone kept staring at us. I wasn't the spectacle anymore, though; Andy was making an ass of himself simply by being himself.

"'Kay."

I eventually coaxed him outside, and when we were out of ear shot of everyone, I told him the real reason I came to see him. Luckily, he was glad to sell Jet to me—more caps for more potent drugs. He led me up to the water processing plant, where he hid his stash, and showed me his inventory. I bought about four inhalers off of him (which would probably last me a week or so) and popped one in my mouth right there in front of him. He didn't seem to mind.

"Thanks, Nova," he said as I finished it off. I giggled a little, then looked him up and down.

"No. Thank _you_."

At that, he gave me back some of my caps in exchange for a hand job. Since I was so happy to be high again, I gave him a blow job at the same cost out of the goodness of my heart. Hah, "the goodness of my heart".... Believe it or not, when I work, my mind does wander a lot. Sometimes I don't catch myself drifting off into la-la land, and I almost ruin it for the customers. I think about the latest shit that went down in the bar, I think about funny memories from the past. Sometimes I think about regulars, about John, Moriarty... and at that moment, while I was swallowing Leo's cock and he was using my hair as a rein, I started thinking about Gob and what John had said about him. My high was _still _going when I'd finished with Leo (the best part usually only lasted a few minutes before it dived off and slowly faded away), and I started feeling optimistic. Brave, even. As a whore, the best term might've been "entrepreneurial". I'd heard Morairty say that once, and it took me asking five different Johns what it meant until I figured it out.

I walked back to the saloon with a goofy grin plastered on my face. When I opened the door, I did it slowly, dramatically—I held onto the handle and kept my back pressed up against the door, sticking out my hips almost suggestively. The only person in sight was Gob. He was picking up some empty bottles from a table, and when I swung that door open and grinned at him, he looked up at me, studying me intently with wide eyes. I knew from the shifting look on his face that he'd figured me out, but I didn't care—not at that point anymore. Besides, his mood would change, I was sure of it.

"You went to Leo."

"Mmmhmm." We both knew what he really meant by those words, but I was still too fucking elated to even notice he wanted to berate me.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me, leaning against my hands. "Closing?"

"It's ten at night, Nova."

"Yeah," I said, and my hands moved to the lock at the top. "And nobody's here."

"Nova," he said, almost like a warning, and put the bottle down on the table to chase after me. Too late, though—I had the door locked, and he was getting closer—

The moment he reached for the lock to open it again, I grabbed his wrist. My fingertips were buzzing with sensitivity, but I might as well have had a fistful of silk in my hand rather than rotting flesh. His hand stopped moving on the lock, and he paused to look me in the eye. His face bordered somewhere between fear and complete bliss. I relaxed my grip on his wrist (I think—I don't know how hard I was gripping it) and let my fingers run up his arm. Like I said, my nerves were re-wired, so I didn't feel quite as disgusted about what I was doing than I would have normally. I could practically feel the shiver that ran up his spine, too, and my stupid grin got wider.

"I have the night off, you know," I whispered, and I let my fingers run down his arm again. "You could, too."

He pulled his arm away, and I could almost feel the reluctance in his movement. He was still looking at me, but his eyes darted around my eyes, refusing to meet them.

"You're high, Nova."

"Yup." I popped the 'p'. I really was in the best mood I'd been in for a long time, and my high was _still_ roaring—Leo must have given me Ultrajet without realizing it.

"You should sleep this one off."

"All by myself?" I tried to step closer to him. He stepped back, but only a little bit, like he didn't have enough will power to escape what I was laying on him.

He was standing ramrod straight, and his fists were balled at his sides. I took another step closer to him, and he didn't move. Then I went in for the kill—I ran my hands lightly up his arms, across his shoulders, then I gripped his neck, stepping one foot in between his legs and pressing myself up against him. I remember thinking that he didn't actually smell all that different from any other person in town. It was actually kind of pleasant.

I hooked my chin around his neck, so I didn't see the reaction in his face. All I could see was the side of his head where his ear used to be.

"Don't tell me you'd rather see me sleep this off," I whispered, then I grinded myself up against him just a bit.

His breath caught in his throat a bit, and his hands moved to my shoulders, and I thought for a second he was going to push me off, but he just held them there. I smiled triumphantly—I'd won the battle.

I don't know why I did that to him. At the time it was probably guilt for how I'd treated him, and I thought this was the best way to make up for it, especially since I was high at the moment. It could have also been a "why the fuck not?" thing—again, because I was high. I wouldn't have done any of that if I was sober.

So, when his hands squeezed my shoulders, I tried kissing his neck. It wasn't so bad, either—a little flaky and salty, but my Jet-induced lips just liked the feeling of pressing up against something. I let go of his neck and let my hands glide down to his belt. Another half-choked sound came out of him, but it sounded nervous, kind of like he was clearing his throat. My hands worked his belt apart, and I let my cheek slide up his neck until my mouth met his ear, and I breathed into it slowly, kind of like a gasp. It was mostly for his benefit. Jet usually did make me hot and bothered (which had a lot to do with how I was acting) but I was good at getting someone excited, and that's what I was aiming for.

"Nova," he said, his voice wavering, and it felt like he was trying to push me away. It was weak, though, so I decided to ignore it. "Nova, wait a second—"

My hand slid down his pants, and thats when I realized he really was nervous.

I pulled my face back to look him in the eye, but they darted away from me again, like he was trying to pretend I wasn't there.

"What's wrong, Gobbie?" I purred, letting go of him and pulling my hand back. "You're not in the mood?"

His throat worked up and down, then he made that throat-clearing noise again and mumbled something.

"What?"

He opened his mouth slightly. "Doesn't work as well anymore."

I was still on a Jet high, but I could feel myself spiraling downward so quickly, I almost didn't realize I was dropping until I hit rock bottom. I felt like I'd just violated a small child.

I let go of him and stepped back, keeping my eyes down turned with a stale smile on my lips. I was falling apart fast, and I didn't know why.

"Sorry, Gob," I said, just as broken as he sounded.

He still wasn't looking at me. He pulled his pants up a bit, then re-buckled his belt. "You really shouldnt've done Jet," he said, though he still sounded derailed.

I really wasn't myself while I was on Jet. I'd felt so bad about what I'd done to him that his guilt tripping me over my drug abuse made tears pool at the corner of my eyes. I still had a bit of Nova there to catch it, though, and I blinked them away as fast as I could.

"I need to clean up," he said. He stepped around me (far around me) and unlocked the door.

Gob moved around the bar, picking up bottles and glasses again, then bringing them to the bar. I kept standing there, watching him, but he never looked up at me once. I might as well not have existed to him. I wouldn't have given two shits earlier that morning, but now that I had Jet in my brain....

"Good night."

"Night," he mumbled.

Thank my fucking stars I had the night off—if I had to wait out the rest of the night to close standing so close to him, I'd implode and burst into flames.

I slowly made my way upstairs. My high was still raging. It wasn't a good night.


	7. Chapter 7

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_OH, so, enlighten me, I'm quite lost: goddamn, or Goddamn? I have absolutely no inkling anymore. So many different opinions! Google has failed me as well._

_Fun fact: Did you know, even though Moriarty looks and seems older, Jericho trumps him by fifteen years? Weeeird._

Chapter Seven

Since I spent so much time trying to occupy myself, I usually ended up doing work over and over that I didn't need to, like wiping down the counters. When Moriarty was there, I especially put my nose to the grindstone; clean that glass, empty that ashtray, count the tills, wipe down the counter, clean that glass, etcetera. Today, though, I could care less. I'd always had a shitty time with life, but now it was piling up, and I'd had enough of it. I stood behind the bar, not caring that Moriarty was planted at a table not ten feet away, and smoked a cigarette.

Billy'd given it to me some weeks back. I wasn't one for smoking, but I'd accepted it as payment anyway. I thought some other customer would ask me for one, or Nova would want it. Now it was mine, and I could give two shits if Moriarty had a problem. Well, he didn't seem to care that I was just standing there, puffing out smoke all over the place, but if he did... well, if he did, I'd more likely snuff it and get back to work. I wouldn't be happy about it, though.

Moriarty seemed to be in a sort of docile mood. I'd gotten the impression that he was strung out, probably a drug "hangover" or something. But it was nearing nine o'clock, and Nova wasn't up yet. Moriarty didn't seem too concerned. "Ah, let her sleep it off," Moriarty would say, "she's been working hard, not to mention that Jet withdrawal she's shouldering."

Fuckin'... goddamn... horse-shit... piss pot....

Then Jericho walked in. Before that kid first showed up, most of my frustrations were associated with Jericho's ugly mug. Ah, well... I suppose I'm in no position to be saying that. Anyway, I was free to feel my anger gush out at the sight of him once again without the kid there. The first thing he did when he stepped in was look around the bar, like the dumbstruck asshole he was, and then said: "Where's Nova?"

I just about burned a hole in my lungs, I dragged so long and hard on that smoke. "She's in fucking bed," I growled.

I probably don't need to tell you I was in a bad mood. I also probably don't need to tell you why. Given that, though, I still should've had my wits about me. One thing I did well was know my boundaries. I knew what I could say (which was very little), when I could say it (not often), and how far I could go with each and every person in and around Megaton (obviously, not very far). I'd broken every single one of those guidelines, and I not only overstepped them with Jericho, but with Moriarty as well. As Jericho's face twisted into a hideous sneer, Moriarty's head turned slowly towards me and gave me intense eyes of warning and loathing.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" Jericho pined.

"Yes, Gob," Moriarty said, watching me carefully. "Please repeat what you just said."

I knew he didn't actually want me to run my mouth off again—he was giving me the rare chance to fix my mistake. I looked down, took one last short puff of my cig before I snuffed it out amongst the legions of butts left behind by Nova in the ashtray.

"She's asleep," I said more quietly.

"That's what I thought you said," Jericho bit back bitterly. He approached the bar, his boots clunking heavily on the floor while he rested his hand on the combat knife attached to his hip. He tugged it a little, just to make sure I caught a glimpse of it, probably.

"Get me some whiskey," he demanded. I smooshed the butt harder into the ash tray, then turned to the racks to grab his poison.

"There you go," I said, putting the bottle down firmly on the counter. And, God bless my rotten soul, I was still feeling a bit testy, so I whispered: "Dick head."

He didn't hear me. For some reason, I felt a little disappointed.

I settled for leaning on the counter in front of him while he worked at his whiskey. I realized it then that I did that with the kid once or twice, and he seemed to open up that angry, vengeful side of me. Then again, it wasn't the kid that made me angry this time. That being sad, Nova didn't make me angry, either. No, I couldn't lay an inch of frustration on her. It was fucking life that was so fucking disastrous all the _fucking_ time—

"You want somethin'?"

I was shooting fire balls at him with my eyes as I raged. "No."

"Mind backing the fuck off?"

I stood straight and took a step back. Jericho eyed me viciously for a second before he tended to his whiskey. He really did look like a dumb ass when he drank. It was like watching a little kid shave before he had facial hair.

"So, Moriarty, how's business treating ya?"

"The same it does every summer, I suppose," he drawled.

"Hm. You know, I was wonnerin', where's that kid from?"

"What kid?"

"You know, the guy with the slick hair."

"That little shit? He's from the vault. Where the fuck have you been the last few days?"

"Fuck off. Anyway, my point bein', there's been talk about him. I dunno what to believe, though. I'd like the chance to ask him myself."

Moriarty didn't respond. Jericho looked over his shoulder. He sighed, put his fork down on his plate, then said lamely: "Ask him what?"

"If he's really into the whole blood business," Jericho said, waving his whiskey around slowly, as if he was revisiting tales of grandeur. Actually, that was probably pretty close to true. Everyone knew Jericho was just begging for a raider attack everyday, anything to relive his glory days. "Yeah, you know... anything for the caps—raiding raiders, painting a town red... that sort of shit."

I had a funny picture in my head: Jackass 101 with perfect hair and teeth brandishing an AK-47 while Jericho stood behind him with four cigarettes in his mouth and two bloody combat knives in hand. "Down boy, good boy," the kid would say, and Jericho would grunt like a dog.

"I wouldn't imagine him as the kind of company you're used to having."

"Why, you think he's a goody-two-shoes?"

"No, has something to do with the fact that he's... what, forty or more years your juniour?"

"Fuck off, Moriarty."

Moriarty went back to picking at his food. "So, what else of these rumours?"

I tried not to look obvious by listening in, and it wasn't hard. I did that a lot. Spy mode was kicking in smoothly.

"Huh? Oh. I wouldn't call them rumours. Well, maybe."

We all sat in silence (technically I was standing, but you know what I mean). Jericho cleared his throat, and Moriarty threw his fork down again once he heard it.

"Two caps off your tab."

No response.

"Oh, for the love of... Gob, give him another fucking bottle."

I obliged, and Jericho snatched it up from the table once I put it down. Now he had two bottles of glorious nectar to fist, and he kind of looked like a kid on the verge of fattening up. In his case, though, he wouldn't fatten up—his liver would. I could imagine it stretching from head to toe already, threatening to burst out one night and run off, leaving a note behind that said: "Filter your own fucking poison, you moron!"

"As I was sayin'," Jericho said, "people've seen him doing pretty strange stuff. First there's the community service thing, like when he helped us take on those fuck-ups from up North, but then there's other things..."

"Like?"

He paused.

"I'd much sooner stuff your head down the shitter than give you another bottle."

"Hey, hey, I was jes collecting my thoughts." I nearly snorted. "That whore that used to work here for a bit, uh... Sliver? Silver, yeah... know how she was holed up in Springvale?"

"Mhm."

"Not anymore."

Moriarty stopped eating his food again. "Eh?"

"She's fuckin' MIA," Jericho said, shrugging his shoulders. "Either she packed up an' left, or.... Anyway, some people think he's behind that."

Moriarty ran a hand over his head. "She owed me caps, too."

"An' someone else's gone missing, too," Jericho said, then took another gulp of his whiskey. "Some minor trader that stopped by here... I can't remember his name... Oregon? Ohio? I dunno, he was named after some sort of pre-war place."

I knew who he was talking about. I didn't know the guy's name either, but it was the same guy who's purse the kid had. I knew for damn sure that that trader wasn't just missing. I folded my arms over my chest, and I sucked up a little air from my nose. I tried not to do that too often—it felt really funny—but I was getting angrier and _angrier_, and it was just piling on top of the last shit—

"Simms thinks he's behind that raider's murder."

"What? You mean that mohawk bitch?"

"Mhm."

"No fuckin' way! I thought Simms just did her in to save himself the trouble."

"You're giving him too much credit."

"Huh," Jericho said, then finished off bottle number one. "You say he's jus' some kid, but he's turnin' out to be some sort of slick shit."

"I wouldn't go spreading it around, though," Moriarty said, taking a slow bite of breakfast. "They are just rumours."

That's the exact opposite of what Moriarty wanted, but he knew it'd work on Jericho. I watched his face twist up in some sort of expression that said he was really putting his noggin to work. "Yeah, whatever."

And the seed had been planted.

They ate and drank in silence for a bit. I started looking over the stock on the shelf. "So, uh... think I could just go up there and see what she's doin'?"

Just kept piling and piling and piling....

"If you really want to."

"She's _asleep_."

I didn't even realize I'd spoken until their eyes were on me. "Who the fuck asked you?" Spittle flew from Jericho's lips.

I hesitated, but only for a second. I stepped forward. Why was I feeling so goddamn bold?

"Give her a break."

"We all make our keep in this town, including her. Including you. Shut the fuck up."

"Why don't you?"

"What?" He said it sharp, then stood up a bit from his stool, planting his fists on the table.

"You're always shooting your mouth off, and _no-one fucking cares_."

Jericho seemed dumbstruck for a second, 'cause he didn't say anything. Moriarty got up from his table, turned to me, then folded his arms over his chest. He was silent, too. I was in deep shit, but I didn't fucking care.

"You're gonna fucking die, zombie!" Jericho said, pointing a finger at me. "I've had enough of your fucking mug—"

I've heard of this experience where people blank out in certain parts, and they don't exactly remember what happened between that moment and the next. I don't know what they call that, but that's what happened to me. Anyway, the way Jericho said his last sentence in my memory sounded cut off. I never dared ask Moriarty after what had happened, but from the dull ache in the knuckles on my right hand for the next few days made me believe that I'd hit him. I had my doubts, I mean... I'm talking about _me_ here. We all know I'm not likely to end up hitting anyone. In fact, I don't have any memory of smacking anybody. Ever. So that's why the ache in my hand might've just been a result of Jericho hopping the counter and beating me within an inch of my life.

* * *

I usually woke up to Gob's shuffling feet every morning, but that wasn't the sound of Gob's feet I was hearing. As I drifted up out of my stiff sleepy stupor, I could hear the muffled sounds of Jericho grunting every time he pummeled someone's face. Since I was groggy, I lay there for a few minutes with puffy, squinty eyes, just listening to the rhythmic beating. _Grr-puph, grr-puph_. I didn't make the connection in my head that Jericho was _actually_ beating someone up until I heard Colin shout: "Get the fuck off him, you bastard!"

As soon as I realized that, I knew without a doubt that it was Gob on the other end of Jericho's fist.

I flew out of bed—in my mind's eye, I picture myself being sprung from the mattress and flying through the air right to my door—and ran out onto the catwalk and down the steps. I hit the landing, then spun around the bend to see the top of Jericho's head from behind the bar with Colin's hands on his shoulders. Broken bottles and alcohol spread across the counter and floor—why didn't I hear anything break?

Jericho's elbow pumped in and out of view like a steam pump, and a _thump_,_ thump_,_ thump_ sounded every time it disappeared again. I was just standing there, gawking like a fucking idiot, until it clicked in my sluggish mind again that Gob was getting beaten to death.

"Jericho!" I shrieked. I wasn't paying much attention, but I'm pretty sure I sounded like a banshee. I rushed over to them, shoved past Colin, and resorted to beating on Jericho's back. Gob's eyes were closed—or swollen shut—and blood was all over his face, his neck, the front of his shirt—oh fuck, oh fuck oh _fuck!_

"Fuck off, Jericho!"

With that, he spun around and hit me square in the eye, and I went floating backwards onto the ground. I didn't even feel myself hit it, but I knew I'd fallen from the odd _ping_ in my head and the sticky feeling of booze in my hair. I was back to square one—groggy, trying to wake myself up again. When I opened my eyes ever so slightly, all I could see was Colin towering over far above me like some sort of doom bringer with his pistol pressed against Jericho's head. Jericho was still kneeling on the floor, and his hands were raised halfway up. Colin's face was something wicked; I can't come close to describing it, but it looked like... I don't know, maybe that's what God would look like if he were angry. His face was red, his eyes were narrowed and large at the same time, and his lips were a thin white line. He was shaking a little.

"Get the fuck out." He pronounced every word slowly and poked Jericho's ear with the muzzle of the pistol.

"Hey, Moriarty—"

Colin drew back the pistol and slapped Jericho upside the head with it.

"_Get the fuck out of my saloon before I fucking obliterate you!_"

Jericho started to stand—"Slowly!"—slowly. He got to his feet, then walked off from behind the bar. Colin moved behind him, keeping the gun trained to the back of his head, and then they disappeared from view.

I sat up slowly, holding one hand to my head to make sure it didn't fall off as I tried to collect myself. Jericho packed quite the punch. I'd been beaten in my day, but not enough to get used to being greased in the eye. The moment I saw Gob sprawled out across the floor, I stopped feeling the pulse behind my eye. All I could see was blood and booze pooled around him, with his arms splayed out and his head tilted to the side, just from my view. It didn't look like he was breathing.

"Gob?" I tried to say. It came out as a half-squeak, half-slur. I twisted myself around onto my hands and knees and crawled over to him. At the same time, I heard the door open—"Don't come back 'til you castrate yourself, you fucking mutt!"—then slam behind Jericho. I went to turn Gob's face toward me, but once I saw it, I snatched my hand back.

"Oh, _fuck!_"

"Jesus almighty...."

Colin came around the bar again and looked over Gob. I looked up at him. All he did was sigh and rub a hand over his face.

"This'll cost me dearly," he muttered. He looked to me, then said quickly, "You in any condition to help me carry him down to Doc's?"

I was too stunned to answer for a second, but then I nodded and spluttered, "Yeah."

"Alright, I grab his shoulders, you get his feet."

I was slow to do this. I had to cut back on Jet. Or, at least, Ultrajet—I'm sure that's what I was inhaling.

"Get a move on, Princess, before he bleeds to death all over my floor."

When I was somewhere between eight and ten, everyone swarmed up to the top of the carrier at Rivet City while a few people held a ghoul up above their heads. I didn't know what was going on at the time—it was a little over my head. Literally and figuratively. I was whisked away with the group to the top. They were all shouting. When we got there, it was overcast and cold. The group carrying that guy went to the broken edge of the boat while everyone else hung back and barked like an angry mob. The ghoul was squirming in their grasps, trying to get away. I was so confused as to the game they were all playing until those men got to the end and simply tossed the ghoul off the edge.

He didn't even scream on his way down. Hit the rocks at the bottom. Died instantly. Everyone muttered their good riddances and their better him than mes while I stood at the broken edge of the ship and peeked down to the bottom, terrified and mesmerized by what I found there. As Colin and I carried Gob through town, I got that same horrible feeling of the situation, and everyone's looks cast at us were the same that I had way back then. It didn't make me anymore optimistic about anything.

When we got to Doc Church's door, Colin approached it backwards, still hooking his fists under Gob's pits, and kicked the door twice with his heel in a sort of crude knock. My arms were burning and my breath was getting harder to control, and if I had the option to let my arms drop off, I would've accepted it. But I couldn't let go of Gob.

Colin kicked the door again. His face was bright red, his lips were pursed, and his cheeks were bulging slightly where he kept his breath in. After a minute, he let it go in a big gale of wind and shouted: "Open the fucking door, Church!"

There was a distant stomping, then the doc opened the door a crack, looking out at us. Colin looked over his shoulder towards the crack, and said, "Come _on!_"

"If you came here to bother me—"

"I'll rip your balls off! Open up!"

Church seemed to huff a bit, then he opened the door wide for us to come through. We shuffled in, Gob swinging in between us like a hammock in the breeze while we grunted out of the effort. Church led us into his little infirmary, and we plopped Gob down on the empty bed with sighs of gratitude. Gob wasn't a heavy set guy at all, but you try carrying dead weight through a fucking ant farm of a town sometime, see how easy it is.

"What the hell happened to him?"

"Shot his gob off."

"Mm. Lots of folks in this town have that syndrome. Always come out looking like a rotten mutfruit."

"Gob _is_ a rotten mutfruit."

"Is that why you beat him so hard?"

"Not me. Jericho."

"For Christ's sake," Doc grumbled, "someone's gotta keep a goddamn eye on that boy."

"Put a muzzle on the guard dog and the trespassers get through."

"Whatever, Moriarty. I want fifty up front. Treating him isn't gonna be a cakewalk."

"Fifty fucking caps?"

"Or you could patch him yourself."

"Christ on _crutches!_" Colin shouted. "I'll go get the caps. Nova, you wait here."

Colin blew out the door, and Doc leaned over Gob and started poking and rubbing him in certain places. Gob let out a muffled moan, gurgled with blood, and jerked a bit.

"Broken rib," Church muttered. "That'll cost extra."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, then lit it with trembling hands. Almost out of matches. That'd cost extra, too.

Church gave me a dirty look. "Would you put that out? This is a doctor's office, not some raggedy old saloon."

"Sorry," I mumbled before I snuffed it on the sole of my shoe and slipped it back into my pocket. Cigs were more expensive than matches.

Church was still staring at me. I stared back. "What?"

"You got a shiner showing," he said, pointing to his eye. "Jericho get you, too?"

"Yeah."

He mumbled to himself. "So, he hit you, and Gob stepped in? Mighty brave of the idiot."

"I was actually pulling Jericho off of him. I don't know what Gob said to set him off."

"He should learn to keep his mouth shut."

"That's where he got his name, apparently."

"Hah. Cute."

I wrapped my arms around myself, watching Gob intently. He looked like he was sleeping, but I could hear his breaths come out raggedly and see him twitching in the places where it hurt. "He's not... he's not in _trouble_, is he?"

Church pulled a stimpak out of his pocket, pushed the plunger a little and flicked the needle. "I dunno. You'd have to ask Moriarty, wouldn't you?"

"That's not what I mean. Is he going to be... you know... okay?"

"Eventually. Probably won't be able to piss right for a while, but we'll get him back to normal in a few weeks."

I held my arms tighter, then nodded. He looked at me.

"You don't come down here too often, but I know enough about you to tell you're not being yourself."

"What?"

"Look at you," Church said, gesturing at me. "You're like a kid whose worried about her pet dog dying or something."

I didn't say anything. I reached for another cig—_Oh, shit, can't smoke here—_then went back to clutching my arms.

"I'd tell you to scram," Doc said, sticking the needle in Gob's arm and injecting it, "but I want to make sure I get my caps from that slimy bugger. Once you go back to work, don't worry your pretty little head over Gob. I'll get him working again, just fine."

I looked around the room. There were two other people sleeping in there. One had a bandage wrapped around his head with a big blood stain on his forehead. The other{, a} girl{,} was shaking uncontrollably under a few blankets. I looked away quickly again. Withdrawal.

"Can I come see him?"

"Visiting hours are between ten and two."

"I can't come in then."

"Then no, you can't see him."

A bunch of acid built up in my mouth, but I bit it back. I looked to the door, trying to decide when Colin would be back, then said carefully, "What if I were to make you a deal?"

Church stopped whatever it was that he was doing to Gob, then sighed, letting his hands drop to his lap. "I don't do bribes."

"Listen, I just give you some caps, and you leave your door unlocked in the middle of the night."

He snorted. "You out of your tree?"

"Come on, Church," I said. I was going to counter with, "There could be other favours in it for you," but I stopped. Whoring was what I knew, but I also knew who I could use those tricks on. Church was more likely to kick me out for good if I even so much as suggested he'd succumb to the likes of prostitution.

"No."

"Church, I—" I what? What was I going to say?

"He looked at me quizzically. "Why's he so important to you?"

That's what I was asking myself. "He's all I've got."

I felt hot in the face. There, I admitted it. I finally cooked the turkey and served it at the table. It was out in the open. I wasn't only confessing to Church, but to myself. He's all I've got. He's my only friend.

Church looked me up and down for a second. I must've looked real pathetic, and I felt pathetic, but I didn't very much care at that moment. I had no other hope in the world except hoping Church would just be charitable to Nova the Dirty Town Bicycle.

"If I'm so much as missing a glove, I'll ruin you," Church grumbled. "I'll take you for all you're worth. I'll—" He cut himself off. "Even if it's not you, I'll put all the blame on you. Understand?"

I nodded, trying to keep myself from smiling like a fucking goon. "Twenty caps?"

"HAH! Twenty caps. More like forty."

I grimaced and sighed, but I started to reach for my little purse.

"Nah, kid, I don't want your caps. You just make sure you know the risks you're taking. Not just with my valuables, but with your job."

He knew as well as I did that if Colin caught me sneaking out at night, everyone would be screwed, including comatose Gob. "Thanks, Church."

"Ah, keep it to yourself."

As if on cue, Colin walked through the door, then chucked a small bag of caps towards Church. It landed next to him at Gob's bed. "Nova!"

I could hear a whole lot more behind my name than he said. "Let's get the fuck out of here," "No-one's watching my wares, get a move on," and "Let's go before you make anymore stupid fucking deals," but that was just my imagination running off on me. I followed Colin out of the clinic, and I made real damn sure not to look back over my shoulder. That would have been too cliché. Instead, I started to think about digging into my stash of jet and taking a big fucking breath to try and chase away that uneasy feeling that was burning away under my ass. _He's all I've got_.

I thought I'd given up on feelings a long time ago, let alone friends.


	8. Chapter 8

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_P.S. This is totally off topic but I'm just so excited about it: GO SEE _ZOMBIELAND_!_

Chapter Eight

It was steady that night, and the noise was pretty thick in the place, so I almost didn't hear the knocking at the saloon door. Knocking. I thought I was hearing things—who the hell would knock on the door of a bar before entering? I looked to Colin, but he was angrily serving beverages at the counter. Now that his prized and under-appreciated employee was out for the count (and would most likely get more beatings and pay cuts for the trouble), he had to do all the dirty work. No screwing around in his office all night anymore.

I heard the knock again. I eyed the door angrily. _Just walk in already._

After about a minute, someone opened the door with a jerk. Walter walked in, his eyes locked on someone from behind the door. He had the dirtiest expression on his face, which made him look like an older, colder Jericho. He usually didn't give dirty looks.

"Moriarty," Walter shouted over the noise. "Got some slave at the door."

Colin looked up from behind the sea of empty vodka and whiskey bottles. "Say what?"

"Some guy with a collar, outside."

Everyone at the bar was twisted in their stools, looking at Walter with confused and accusing faces. Walter shrugged. "Want me to take care of him?"

"No, just come in, Walter. Make yourself comfortable."

And so things went back to normal. I was reveling in the peace and quiet I was getting amongst all the drunken braying, what with Jericho being banned. It was probably just going to be temporary; Jericho, unfortunately, was _Moriarty's_ best customer, so Colin wouldn't have him out for long. In the mean time I got to kick back. Well, not entirely. Colin got on my case if I didn't try to hook at least one guy an hour. I got to take my time, though.

After fifteen minutes, the knocking picked up again, this time more urgent.

Colin sighed and let his face collapse into his upturned hand. He rubbed at it tiresomely, then looked to me. "Would you get the door, Nova?" His voice was strained and on the verge of exploding into fits of rage.

I kicked off the wall gently, then moved towards the door. Everyone at the bar was turned again, and this time they watched me close in on the door.

_RAPRAPRAPRAPRAPRAP—_

I opened the door, and the guy's fist nearly pounded my neck. I took a step back, then gave him a dirty look. He probably couldn't see me clearly, since outside was completely dark and all the light from inside was hitting him square in the face. I saw all of him, though. Every sorry inch.

He was completely filthy, like he only had a nodding acquaintance with a shower his whole life. It was almost impossible to tell his hair from his face, but then I saw him squinting, and I caught sight of two eyeballs under his mangy hair. He had a beard too, which suggested he was older, but he was short. I caught the glimpse of a slave collar on his neck.

On top of all that unfortunate mishap, his clothes were tattered and stained with blood or shit or mud or all three. He stank to high heaven, and I recoiled a little and waved a hand in front of my face.

"Can I help you with something, honey?" I said, eying him up and down with disgust.

"Uh," he mumbled with a deep, broken voice, "I need a place to stay."

"You need a bath."

"I was told I could talk to Moriarty here about a job," the guy retaliated, stepping closer to me and reaching out for my arms desperately with his dirty hands. I took another step back and closed the door halfway to keep him out.

"Not interested. Beat it, buddy."

"Hold on, Nova," Colin called. I gritted my teeth at the sound of his voice. "Let the man in."

I sighed heavily, then stepped back and opened the door wider. The guy practically scrambled in like he'd been fighting his whole life to get into such a place. His boots were caked with more mud and filth, and it trailed over the floor. I had flashbacks of me cleaning the floors before I got dropped into the sex trade, and I clenched my fists and suppressed a growl. I suppose I was just hating this guy out of the shitty week I'd been having; normally I wouldn't have been as short tempered with somebody, but at that particular moment, he was making it all the more easier.

Everyone was silent for a second, and the guy took the opportunity to just ramble like his life depended on it. "Moriarty sir, I was hoping you might have a job for me because I just ran clear of Paradise Falls and I had nowhere else to go but Megaton and someone said you had plenty of business for a guy like me—"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Colin said, holding out his hands. Everyone was still watching. "Start from the beginning."

I would've expected Colin to lead the guy into the back, but he kept him out on the floor. Everyone seemed interested in the slave, so I suppose Colin was ready to entertain them.

The guy gulped, then dove headlong into his story. "It happened last night sometime. I was locked up in The Box again, and then I heard explosions. Then shooting started. All I could do was duck down and hope none of the fire clipped the shelter I was in, but the door lock was hit, and I was let out. I sat there for a long time, and eventually the shots stopped. Then a whole bunch of slaves ran past my little box, and one of the kids coaxed me into running out. When I asked them what happened, they just said everyone in Paradise Falls got shot. Our collars didn't work anymore. After that, I just ran here."

Everyone was quiet. Paradise Falls had been around for years. Decades. Probably a century or more. It was an economic capital, be it morally corrupt or not. Gob had come from Paradise Falls. Everyone had some sort of ugly connection to the little shit hole. And everyone in town simply "got shot".

"What do you mean 'everyone in Paradise Falls'?"

"I mean everyone," the guy exclaimed. "Everyone but us slaves. I ran past a couple of dead sentries, and I was almost certain they'd just get up and start shooting at us as we ran by. Some of 'em were lying in little craters. A few buildings were on fire."

"Everyone dead?" Colin repeated. "You sure?"

It was _so_ silent.

"Yeah."

"Who did this?"

"I don't know," he answered. "The kids claimed they saw some guy mowing them down. Just one. I don't believe them so much, considering—"

"No greeting party outside of town?"

He didn't reply right away. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head as he tried to figure out Colin's question. "Just us."

"Holy Hell," Billy said with a low whistle. "You can't be serious."

The guy rubbed his palms on his pants. It probably didn't do anything to make them cleaner.

"Paradise Falls...."

"That place was a Pit of Death. Nobody could haze through that."

People started murmuring between themselves, and Colin's face was twisted up in concentration with one arm wrapped around his chest and one hand under his chin. His brow started to relax, and he fixed the slave with a heated look. "If you're telling me the truth, you'd best be keeping that secret to yourself. Not something you want to go flinging around like pebbles at a stoning."

"No, sir."

"And, considering your head hasn't blown off," Colin said solemnly, "then I suppose what you say about Paradise Falls could be likely."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright," he said with a grunt. "I suppose no-one'll hunt me down for stealing slave property then. You're hired."

My heart sank into my stomach, and I felt sick. I shouldnt've been so upset by this, but I couldn't shake the thought{:} _He's Gob's replacement. _The guy's back was to me, but I could still see him light up like Christmas lights. "Oh, Moriarty, sir—"

"Room and board," Colin said, cutting him off. "I assume you know what that means."

"Yes, Moriarty, sir, anything!"

"Right," Colin mumbled. "Well, what do they call you?"

"Rory."

Even I gave him a queer look. "That's your slave name?"

"Oh," Rory said. "I don't have one."

"What kind of... bah. Just get over here; I'll teach you how to work the bar. And if you try to steal from me, I'll have your balls."

"Yessir!"

I still stood by the door. I was holding the handle with a firm grip, as if I was expecting to open it to send that lousy stinky asshole back onto the catwalk before long. Now he was marching behind the bar—_Gob's _bar—and he was making drinks with Colin. Sure, the old guy needed the extra helping hand, but he couldn't... he wouldn't....

_I want this motherfucker _OUT!

"On second thought," Colin said after a moment, "you should head down to the showers first. You smell worse than my late Aunt Lizzy."

* * *

Colin hiring Rory (Rory McLaren, he'd said. I almost spat on him) only made me more angry and stupid. I'd been rolling the idea over in my head all day long, whether or not I should go to Church's or not. But he was keeping the door open, and if anyone stole from him, I'd be in the biggest shit I'd ever been since I stole my roomie's drugs back in Rivet City. I could get in big trouble if I stayed or if I didn't. But Gob....

I dug into my stash, pulled out one inhaler, shook it, and took a big hit. After a few minutes, I smiled hazily to myself. I was in paradise. Along with the euphoria, the pulsating behind my black eye started to numb down, my feet were quicker, and I was about ten times braver than before. I was fucking Super Girl.

We'd closed about a half hour before, and Rory was sleeping in Gob's room. When he headed for the back room after we closed, I just about tore a strip out of him. It wasn't his fault. Well, it was his fault for deciding Megaton and Colin were his only choices. This was mine and Gob's home. Now he was spoiling it with his perma-dirty hair. I swear, even after his shower, his hair was still caked with dirt. He smelt like piss, too.

In any case, he was out for the count, and he wouldn't likely hear me come down the stairs. I crept to my door and opened it a crack, listening carefully. All I could hear was deep, even breathing. I slowly opened the door all the way, stepped out, then closed it behind me. Then I practically tip-toed my way downstairs, and after sliding the lock gently to the side, I busted out of _Moriarty's Saloon._

I was pretty high by then. I was hoping for a second time that I wasn't on Ultrajet again, but I didn't put too much thought to it. My feet really wanted to skip across the catwalks, but I fought really hard from doing otherwise. I didn't want to wake up anyone else and blow my cover, especially while doing something that made me look like a fucking dumbass. But with the Jet in my system, I could walk pretty fast and pretty quietly, so I made my way down to the ramp resting over Church's clinic, and making sure no-one was around to see me, I slipped in the front door.

The lights were out in the front room, of course, but I could see a small, faint light spilling out from under the infirmary's door. I made my way in.

Gob was resting on the cot we'd put him in earlier that day. A small lamp was plugged into a small battery right by his bed, and a chair was propped up next to it, too. It was really easy to sneak by all the other patients quietly, being that I was still floating around in a haze of Jet, but I still made comical efforts to creep by them. They were all really sick. I tried to ignore the girl who was most obviously suffering from withdrawal.

I sat down on the chair as quietly as I could, but it still creaked when I made myself comfortable. Nobody seemed bothered by it, though. I looked over Gob, who was still sleeping, and fiddled with my hands in my lap.

He was probably pissed at me. He'd at least try to avoid me while I sat there, if he ever realized I was there at all. I didn't doubt we weren't on friendly terms at that point. All I wanted to do was make that better, I just wanted to take back what I did. I felt like the biggest bitch in the world. I think he knew as well as I did that I wasn't doing all those things to him because I was attracted to him.

I reached for a cigarette in my pocket, and I started to light it with shaky hands. The Jet was already waring off. That was good. I had a little bit of guilt rolling around under my skin about being high while sitting next to Gob, unconscious or not. The quicker it got out of my system, the better. I did wonder about how well I'd be able to sneak back into the saloon, though.

I suddenly remembered that Church didn't want me smoking in the infirmary, and I fumbled around with the cig, dropping it on the floor. "_Shit!_" I hissed, picking it up and trying to salvage it. It had dropped into a puddle of mystery fluid, and was soaked on its underside.

"Shit, shit, shit," I grumbled, waving the cig around in my hand, trying to dry it off.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice was groggier than usual, and it was almost impossible to discern what he'd said at first, he'd been so quiet. My head snapped over to his face, which was turned toward me. Right away, I thought about how he'd looked beaten and bruised on that day I woke up from my little sick spell and thought how dainty those injuries had been. His face now looked almost twice its normal size, and the muscle had turned blackish purple where Jericho had pummeled him the most.

"Oh, Gobbie," I whispered, turning toward him. "Look at you."

He grunted amusedly. "Nothing new there."

"Are you okay, sugar?" Of all the stupid questions....

"Mm. I've been doped up on Med-X most of the time. Church comes by every hour to give me a double hit. I think I'm ruining his night."

"I am, too. I've got a deal going with him that lets me see you and lets his front door stay unlocked."

He looked me over for a moment, then flickered his eyes away. "Oh."

I sat there, clutching the end of his bed and gnawing on my lip gently. "Gob, about this morning... about last night—"

"Do you have some irradiated water on you?" he asked, cutting me off. "I could really use some rads right now."

There went that conversation. _Fuck you, Nova. I don't need your sympathy,_ he probably thought. I suppose I couldn't force an apology on someone who didn't want to accept it. I felt pretty dejected.

But, I looked around, and a bottle of dirty water sat on the floor by his cot. "Here's some," I said lightly. I uncapped it and held it out for him. When he went to reach for it, he let out a muffled grunt and had obvious problems lifting his arm to grab the bottle. I almost made a little sound of sympathy, the kind mothers make for their children who hold out a finger and say, "Momma, I have a boo-boo!" but I stopped myself. That was the last thing he needed, especially from me, Mistress Dick.

I took the bottle back, and he grumbled in protest. I got off the chair and sat on my knees by his head. "I'll help you drink it," I whispered, then paused. "You okay with that, doll?"

He didn't answer me—he just kept looking at the bottle, watching the little dirty specs float around in the dim light on the floor. Then he nodded weakly.

No, he wasn't okay with it. But I was going to do it anyway. I was forcing my apology on him, and I almost didn't care if he wanted it or not.

I slid my hand under his neck (which was really warm—must've been the Med-X) and tilted his head up a bit. When I brought the bottle to him, I pressed it lightly against his mouth. It was open slightly, and his breath fogged the top of the bottle. His eyes were downcast, watching his breath condense. _Anything to avoid me,_ I reminded myself.

"Ready?" I said, then tipped it a little into his lips. He kept drinking a steady flow of it, closing his eyes and moaning with relief. When half the bottle was gone, he made an "OK" noise that told me to pull back. I took the bottle away, but my hand stayed under his neck. I tried massaging it a little. He really did have rough skin, but it wasn't nearly as bad to touch as I might've once thought.

"Nova," he mumbled.

I stopped massaging. "Yeah?"

"It's just... could you stop? I feel like I'm an infant and you're a new mother."

I almost burst out laughing. I snorted a little, and my hand came to my mouth. Problem was, I was still holding the dirty water, so the plastic bottle thumped me in the face and I splashed myself. This sent me spluttering, and I put the bottle down on the ground as quickly as I could so I could try to cover my mouth again before I tore at the seams with relatively quiet giggles.

Gob was just watching me. "Sorry," I said as quietly as possible, then slipped my hand out from under him. I pictured him in one of those pre-war baby caps and a bib, and I was spiraling the bottle towards his mouth, babbling, "Awr-pwane!"

I doubled over, and I laughed silently into my hand. I felt my sides cramp up.

"Ow," I whimpered, trying to wipe the tears from my eyes. I rested my forehead on his bed, and let myself loose.

"Are you high?" he asked with a quiet, stern voice.

I turned my head from the blankets to look at him, still smiling from the left over giggles. _I was. _"No," I answered honestly, and my mirth died down to just a smile. "No, Gob."

"Oh."

"I just..." I paused, mulling my words over. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I feel like I'm in a stupid little prison over there without you."

"Now you know how it feels." I winced.

I lifted my head off the cot, looking toward him with sad eyes. He was staring at the ceiling. I knew that the last thing he wanted was for me to touch him again, but I reached for his hand anyway. I held it firmly for a long time, watching him while he watched everything but me. I started tracing circles with my thumb, but his hand stayed limp in mine.

"I'm sorry, Gobbie," I whispered. At that moment, I had an outer body experience. That voice didn't sound like mine; Tough Chick Nova was out for the count, and that little girl who used to knock on doors and ask for new parents took over.

Then he held my hand back.

When I got back to my room, I snatched up my bag of Jet, marched out to the front catwalk, and chucked it over the railing.

* * *

Nova came to visit me every night in the little clinic. She seemed a little jittery and shaky for a night or two, but I didn't pay much mind to it. We would make small talk about Moriarty's newest shit show or talk about what certain customers did to who and when. And, as the week went on, I had forgotten my frustration of being the helpless one at the hands of the only girl I cared to impress. In fact, I looked forward to the evening more than anything before. I always made sure she went back to the saloon by five, just so she could get some shut eye, and just to make sure Moriarty didn't wake up to find her missing. She never did get caught, though, and Church never had one thing stolen from him. It worked out for all of us in the end.

I wasn't ever really mad at Nova, but if you've ever been on a shit streak like mine, you'd know how hard it is to divide your moods per person. Nova made it really easy to feel better, though. By the time I got out of there, I was more optimistic than I'd ever been since I was dragged into Megaton. My ribs had healed a little quicker thanks to the radiation, too.

"You owe me seventy-five."

"What?"

"You heard me, Colin."

"That wasn't in our agreement."

"No, you paid me upfront for the damage cost, but you owe me for the supplies it took for him to recover."

"Ah, Church, you're a bigger dick than I," Moriarty said, folding his arms over his chest. "But I know something the rest of Megaton doesn't, and wouldn't mind knowing."

"Don't blackmail me, you—"

"I suppose it was nostalgic, treating Gob?" Moriarty said in an almost sing-song voice. "Brought you back to those gold old days in Paradise..."

I knew what he was talking about, and I also knew it was a touchy subject. Church stood fixed to the spot, simply staring at Moriarty.

"At least I paid my entry fee," Moriarty said, patting him on the shoulder. "You can make do with that."

Church didn't put up a fight. For once, I didn't feel like the weakest link in the room. And I was the injured one.

"Keep a better eye on your employees," Church grumbled. "Maybe then you won't have to be such a low-life asshole when it comes to paying your bills."

"All business, Church."

"Get out of here."

Moriarty smiled humbly at Church, then waved at me. I stood up from the cot (a little stiffly) and made my way over to them. Moriarty opened the door, and I followed.

"Thanks, Doc."

"Stop bothering me."

I hadn't been outside in... I can't tell you how long it had been since I was outside. Conscious, anyway. The light struck me like a bag full of hammers, and I groaned with the sting of the light hitting my face. Moriarty sneered at me. "What, your skin melting? Ha-ha!"

We made our way up the catwalks, back toward the saloon. "I was hoping that arse would just send you up on your way, but after the last couple of days, I knew he'd hold you until I came to fetch you. You have _no _idea how far behind you are in work. The place is a fucking pig sty. And that medical bill'll be coming out of your pay, I'll have you know."

I wanted to complain that it was Jericho who beat me in, but I didn't want to get a beating in the middle of Megaton and have him march me back down to Church's to make the debt bigger, so I just said: "Yes sir."

"Got a new coworker, Randall. Or Rusty. No... I can't remember." I looked at the back of his head, startled. "Well, not _really_ a coworker. I have to pay him a little to keep Simms off my back, but he's still a slave. You two are sharing a room now."

"How long has he been there?"

"Showed up the night you got the snot beat out of you. He was like a dirty, mangled, miscarried gift from the Wasteland's bowels to your absence. He did help cover the work while you were gone, but he did a piss poor job of it. Useless little fuck. I never thought I'd say this, but I'm sure as hell glad I get to see your ugly mug everyday again."

Nova hadn't mentioned this guy at all. Why not? The first thing that popped into my head was that it was because she liked the guy better than she liked me. Thinking that was like a natural reflex, and I couldn't help it. Of course she didn't like him better than me. Otherwise she wouldn't sneak out to come visit me every night. Right?

"This has to be the most I've talked to you in two consecutive minutes before," he said over his shoulder, then did a double take. "It's probably because it's easier to talk to you when I'm not looking at you."

Despite his insulting me, I chuckled. All things considered, it was pretty funny.

We got to the door, and I all but sighed in relief. As much as I missed the outdoors, I was missing dark rooms more at that moment. Moriarty's hand fell on the door handle, and he pulled open the door.

"Nova, Rag," he said, nodding to the two of them. The guy who he'd hired was standing behind the till, at _my_ post, serving up what looked like too much whiskey in a mixer. Moriarty hated being generous with the alcohol, and threatened me not to pour more than an ounce in at a time. This guy wasn't even measuring. I felt strange as I realized that _I_ was feeling annoyed. I never got annoyed—I was always the annoyee.

"Sir," the guy (Rag?) said, smiling broadly. I looked over to Nova and smiled, but she wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at Moriarty, either. From where she stood by the bathroom, her eyes were veered over to the other side of the bar, towards the nook with the fancy chairs. Puzzled, I followed her gaze, then froze in my tracks.

That asshole kid was back.

I didn't recognize him right away; his back was to me, and his hair had gotten a little shaggier. It also wasn't the perfect wave it used to be, and it was dirtied and matted to his skull. After I'd gotten over the initial anger of him being there, I noticed something really off: he was talking to Burke.

Burke had been sitting in the corner of the bar for God knows how long, always waiting on some sort of entrepreneur, or equal opportunist. Hell, could've been waiting on an exhibitionist for all I know. But there were two things about the picture that I didn't like: that kid and Burke. So, overall, I wasn't in a tender, welcoming mood.

I looked back to Nova and the others, and Moriarty had paused to stare at the kid, too. Then he glanced at me and Nova, then moved towards the pair of them. I took my battle station behind the bar.

"Nova," I whispered, pausing next to her. "How long has he been here?"

"Two minutes, maybe," she mumbled, puffing on the last of her cigarette. "It looked like he was coming over to me, but then he just paused and stared at Burke, then went to talk to him."

"Know what they're on about?"

"No."

Just then, Moriarty interrupted their conversation. "Mighty fine afternoon, is it not? Can I get you both a refreshment?"

I nodded, then went to stand behind the bar to find the knife I always kept there. It would've been useful when Jericho was mashing me like a slab of dough, but I wasn't prepared that time. I was sure that some sort of fight would break out, and this time I was going to be prepared to fend for myself.

Rag stood in my way, gawking at me.

"You need somethin'?" I asked. Then I realized that Rag wasn't a usual in the town, and probably had no clue who I was. From the look on his face, I could tell he wasn't all too acquainted with ghouls.

"Uh, n-no, sorry," he mumbled.

"You mind moving?"

He back up a few steps, right in front of Moriarty's door.

"My, my, it's you!" Moriarty said, presumably to the kid. "Fancy seeing you here. Haven't been around since that raider pet of Simms's sung her last song. What have you been up to, might I ask?"

I fished around for the knife. It was wedged between two boxes of rags, pots and pans. I slipped it under the band of my pants.

"I've been setting up a trade route," the kid replied. "As idiosyncratic and erratic as it is right now, I've been relatively successful."

"You're right, that is odd of you," Moriarty said. "I can't imagine you getting along well with others well enough to trade out there."

The kid laughed a cold, spine-chilling laugh. "Depends on the individual," he said smoothly.

I stood straight and peered over the counter towards the nook. Burke looked pissed, and he glared up at Moriarty like he was a piece of shit on his continental breakfast. I caught sight of the kid, and almost had to do a double take. He had a scraggly, unorganized beard budding over his face, and his skin was no longer pale, but a crispy brown. His hair had grown over and fell into his eyes, which was the only constant thing on his face; they were still as icy cold as ever. If it weren't for his eyes and voice, I would've told you that it was some other guy.

I saw two people at a table get up and leave. Lucy was staring over at the conversation like an animal looking down double barrels, and her hands and feet twitched like she wanted to get up and flee, too. A stranger might think those two were having friendly conversation, but anyone who knew Moriarty also knew that he was a live wire, and he was in danger of going off.

"If you'll excuse me, sir," the kid said, "I've got some things to do in town. I'll return later today. Mister Burke," he said nodding to him, "it was a pleasure."

The kid turned, shot Nova a sensuous glance, then left. I saw Lucy visibly recoil as he passed like a cold wind had blown through.

Once the door was closed, I saw Moriarty dig into his pants pocket, pull out his purse, and drop it by Burke's hand on the arm rest. "What did he tell you?"

"The conversation between the young gentleman and I is of no concern of yours," he said, pushing the bag to the end of the arm rest. "Nor is it of such cheap value."

There were a number of things Moriarty would've done to anyone else normally, like kick him out, threaten him with some sort of dirty little secret, or hold him at gun point. The problem was that Moriarty knew nothing about Burke (nor did anybody, for that matter) and Burke alone accounted for a third of our income per week. That man drank like a dried up river bed.

"Certainly," Moriarty said bitterly, snatching up the bag. "Cocksucker," he added under his breath.

"You," Moriarty pointed to Rag. "I want you to do whatever Gob tells you to. Gob," he pointed at me, "you're responsible for him. Show him how to make drinks properly. And if he fucks up, I'm holding you accountable."

I was stunned. I was no longer at the bottom of the hierarchy ladder. "Sure thing, Mister Moriarty."

"Nova," he said more gently, looking to her. "I suspect when our honoured guest comes back, he'll be doing a little shopping for your business. I want you to keep your ear open, just in case he lets his tongue slip."

"Gotcha," she said softly. I couldn't read her tone; either she was shocked to see the kid again, or she felt bad that she was going to double cross him. I was convinced it was the latter. All of the sudden, everything that she'd said over the last week didn't seem to matter. She liked that asshole better than me, and she always would. It stung a lot more than I care to admit.

Moriarty went up the stairs to his room. Probably went to get a different weapon or something. Anyway, it was the three of us, standing in awkward silence, and I went back to my usual habit of cleaning the counter, just to keep my hands busy. Anything for an escape route.

"Uh—Mister Gob?"

I turned around slowly, looking at the guy like he was a fucking clown at a funeral.

"Just Gob."

"Okay, Gob. What do you want me to do?"

I wasn't used to being the leader. I was used to having people tell me what to do; I was the submissive grunt, not the strategic leader.

But a sudden idea did come to mind. "Actually, Rag," I started. I knew his name wasn't Rag, but once Moriarty had said that, and after I got my first look at him, it seemed fitting. "I'll get you to stand by the corner in the nook." I leaned closer, then whispered, "don't make it look like you're spying on him. If he asks, just say you're the new beer wench."

Rag frowned a little. "But I'm not a wench—"

"I'll call you if I need you," I said, cutting him off. I went back to organizing the counters, wiping them down, reorganizing...

"Okay, then," he mumbled, and made his way out. To be honest, I didn't get him to go over there for the sole purpose of taking Burke's orders. I just didn't like him being in my zone. The bar was _my_ bar. He made me feel uneasy, too. I wasn't used to being around someone who was more pitiful than me.

"I have to say, honey," Nova said quietly, "you can be a pretty witty guy."

I was still gloomy about how she reacted to the kid, but it didn't keep a small smile from spreading across my lips.

After what seemed like minutes, the door opened again. Nova and I looked up to watch the kid walk in, but it wasn't him. Simms was blowing through the door with assault rifle in hand.

I stood straight, backing away from the counter and holding my hands out in a sign of surrender. "Hey, Simms," I said with skittish breath. "What's going on?"

He ignored me, looking around the bar. His eyes landed on Burke, and I swear to God, a super mutant would cower at the fury on the guy's face. As he marched over to where Burke sat, the kid walked in the front door with a stoic expression, looking to me and Nova only briefly.

Suddenly, I didn't know what to think.

"Burke," Simms growled, "I've got reason to believe you've been planning on messing with the bomb down in the crater."

Nova had already moved to stand at a better vantage point, and I followed. I stood next to her, peering in on the confrontation. Rag was pressed up against the wall, his dirty face unusually white with fear. Simms was standing in front of Burke, his gun pointed in the guy's face, and the kid was standing a few feet off to the side. Burke was looking at him, and even though he had glasses on, I could see the fire in his eyes.

Moriarty came down the stairs, then paused halfway. I could hear a faint click as he cocked his gun.

"I'm afraid to inform you of this," Burke started, looking back up at Simms, "but this young man had in fact proposed a deal to rig the bomb. I turned him down, and he stormed out. I'm assuming it was to fetch you and tell his fable."

I watched the kid, but he didn't react. He didn't shout, "That's not true!" or strike out, or do anything. He merely stood there, looking down at Burke with such a stoic expression, he could've passed for a statue.

"I'd eat his shit before I took your word," Simms barked. "Mister Burke, on behalf of Megaton, I place you under arrest for conspiracy. Will you come quietly?"

Mister Burke sighed. "There's no need for hostility, sir. I am a civil individual; let us conduct this like gentleman. Lead the way."

Simms nodded slowly, then let his rifle hang at his side. "I'm glad to hear you say that, Burke."

Everything went so fast, but at the same time, it was like slow motion. Simms turned around to lead Burke out of the bar, and Burke stood up slowly, staring at Simms's back with a fierce expression. He reached for the gun that was holstered to his hip, and my breath hitched in my throat.

_Look out!_ I tried to scream, but I couldn't do it. My eyes bugged and my mouth flew open, but before I could even call out, the kid tore the sawed-off shotgun from its holster, and pointed it directly at Burke's head.

Nova and I covered our ears and ducked away from the scene. The last thing I heard was Lucy West's shrill scream, then room exploded with gun fire.

After a few seconds, I uncovered my ears and peered over to the nook. The first thing I saw was Rag—he stood shivering against the wall, hands spread out against it and shoulders hunched up, like he was trying to disappear or flatten himself paper thin to the wall, whatever happened to come first. He and the wall were finely splattered with blood and gore. Then I saw the kid.

He held his gun loosely in his hands, smoke still coiling from the ends. He had more blood and gore on him than Rag did, but he didn't look nearly as scared. He looked—disappointed? That's probably the best way to describe it. He looked down at the bodies on the floor as if he were calculating which one was more likely to jump up first and come to life again.

Simms lay face down on the floor, a clean bullet wound in the back of his neck. But Burke... Burke's upper half had been blown straight across the wall. What was left of him lay crumpled in a heaping mess in the corner, right by Rag's feet. His brains and blood were everywhere else.

Burke had killed Simms, yeah, but that kid had brutalized another person. It was the most horrifying thing I'd seen since my first death claw encounter.

"Jesus-Fucking-Christ," Moriarty breathed. I'd almost forgotten he was there. He scrambled down the rest of the steps, then approached the scene cautiously. He didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say, either. I was speechless.

Nova stumbled forward to the gory scene by Moriarty, then made this little choked noise. The kid looked up at her. I half expected him to come down to reality and realize just what a fucking sight he was standing in and look at Nova with soft, apologetic eyes, but he looked as stony as ever.

"What the fuck was that about?" Moriarty exclaimed.

The kid motioned to the corpses with his gun. "Depends on the individual," he said evenly. "Remember?"

Rag started to tip-toe sideways away from the scene, then gasped in his air like he'd been holding it underwater for far too long. Panting, he said, "Well, better him than me."

Moriarty glared at him. "Shut the fuck up and make yourself useful." He motioned to me. "Help me get these out of here. And Nova, go to Moira's and ask her to get us some help. Tell her Simms is dead."

"Right," Nova said in that same soft voice.

_Simms is dead_. Holy shit. All at once, a whole bunch of awful thoughts popped up into my head. First I saw poor Harden, Simms's kid, sitting alone at home and crying his eyes out. Then I saw Moriarty as the town's muscle again; no more righteous justice, just Wasteland justice. But worst of all, I saw that kid holding up his shotgun, blowing off everyone's heads. I saw him kill Nova.

As I moved forward to help Moriarty take Simms's body out, the kid moved past me to leave the saloon. I glanced at him, then looked away quickly. He was looking right at me with this face that I couldn't read. It was a lot like the disappointed face he'd had, but it was a little more desperate, and really fucking unnerving.

As we flipped over Simms and hooked my hands under his arms, I looked into his dead face, and couldn't help but think that things were going to get a lot more fucked up than they ever used to be.


	9. Chapter 9

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_I'm sorry this is overdue. But you know, sometimes you have to do this thing in university called homework and studying... but I try._

_P.S. Recruit more Nova and Gob story writers._

Chapter Ninef

The rest of that day was a total shit show. I'd never heard more drama in my life, not even from any "Dashwood" episodes. That kid went around telling the major leaguers in town about Simms. Folks like Moira, Andy, Manya—even Jericho. A few of the people gathered together in town to bury Simms and burn Burke's leftovers. That little funeral was right outside the gates. I imagine Harden stood at the foot of the grave while they tipped his old man in, pouring dirt and tears in. _Moriarty's_ was empty for what felt like hours. Rag had been recruited for the burial after he'd cleaned the den up, so it was just us two. Me and Nova stood in the silence. Well, I'd turned on the radio and let the fuzz of Galaxy News fill up the quiet. It made it easier to be distracted.

"Eventful summer, isn't it?"

I grunted. "Yeah."

Nova came over to the bar and sat down. She had a glum look on her face. I didn't think she was all that attached to Simms, let alone Burke, but I knew what she was feeling.

"What do you think happens now?"

"Pfft. Nothing good, that's for certain." She flicked her cigarette in the ash tray. "The shit has hit the fan."

"Yeah." I brushed some imaginary dust off the cash register. "Do you think... that kid knew what was gonna happen?"

"What, you mean John?"

"Is that his name?"

"No. I don't think anyone knows his name." She made a face, then brought the cigarette slowly to her mouth. She took a long drag, blew it out, then giggled a little. "That's kind of weird."

"Well..." I said, feeling a little nervous. "Do you?"

"Huh?"

"Think he had something to do with it."

"I—" she hesitated, "—don't know."

I felt like I was playing baseball with frag grenades. Nova was one of the last people I should've been sharing this with, but I was getting a bad habit of yapping my gob off with her. She was the only person I could confide in, after all. "I think he did."

She seemed a little sad to hear that. "Maybe."

"Maybe he's trying to stage a... ah, what do you call it... a _coup_. Yeah, something like that."

"What's a 'coo'?"

"I—nevermind. Anyway, what do you think is gonna happen to law and order now?"

"I don't want to think about it," Nova said, shaking her head. "Now the only person we have to count on is Moriarty."

"Mhm."

"And John... no, I don't see him stepping up at all. He's not the leader type."

"He did help us that one time with the raiders."

As soon as I opened my mouth, I wanted to punch it. Why the fuck was I defending that grease ball? I hated the little shit. And I agreed with Nova that he wouldn't step up. I rolled my eyes at my own words. I suddenly realized how I got my ghoul name so easily.

"He did, but... I can't explain it. He just gives me the willies sometimes. I mean, when we... when we're...."

She stammered, not wanting to touch the subject. "Anyway, there's something different from him and most people. I guess that's a pretty obvious statement, but some people are straight out with their righteousness or their shitiness, and some people you can tell like to keep it on middle ground, but he..." she growled almost—a defiant frustrated sound. Then her face lit up a little, like she hit a eureka moment, and she said: "It's like he's not human."

"Huh?"

She looked at me, and she shrank back a little, like she didn't mean to say that line out loud. "Nevermind."

But all at once I knew what she meant. Not necessarily that he was some sort of alien or anything like that, but he wasn't all there in the head. A sociopath, maybe. Schizophrenia, multiple personality syndrome, something unfortunate like that. The only problem was that he didn't come off as totally crazy. I knew we probably weren't right (we weren't too far off), but it was a start.

We were quiet again for a while, and then Nova crushed her cigarette. "Whatever happens, at least we won't be alone in it."

That was the closest she'd come to saying "I like you," I suppose. It made me smile a bit, but it was wiped away pretty easy when I remembered just how screwed we were, whether we had each other or not; when I remembered picturing that kid—John, or whatever—blow Nova to bits.

"Let's have some Salisbury steaks," Nova said, leaning on her elbows and smiling up at me. "You like those, right?"

"Yeah." But I didn't have the stomach for steaks. I turned toward the fridge and dug out a couple anyway. Maybe the rads would do me some good.

As I gave her the pack and started to open mine, Moriarty came back through the door, Rag trailing behind him. Both of us perked up, and Nova even hopped off her stool. "Colin?" she said. It was a loaded statement.

He looked up at her, then sighed heavily, slamming the door behind him. Rag jumped out of the way just in time. "Join me upstairs for a few minutes. I need to take a load off."

Five years of that kind of talk, and it never bothered me. But all of the sudden I felt my blood boil, and my hands clenched into fists. I crumpled the steak packaging without even realizing it. I could see myself getting angry at Jericho, and certainly John, but not Moriarty. Not if I wanted to keep what was left of my manhood. But there I was, fuming like a hot bomb. Steam coulda come out of my ear canals if I'd let it.

Nova hesitated a little, then said, "Sure." She stood there for a second though, leaning against the wall by the counter and shifting her weight from foot to foot. He stared at her angrily for a second, then started for the stairs. Nova dropped her arm from the wall and sighed a little before she followed him up. I almost called after her, but I kept my mouth shut—I just got out of the hospital, and saying her name would open a whole new can of worms for Gob.

When she started climbing the stairs though, Nova shot me the most serious look I'd ever seen. It was like everything—Megaton, whoring, Jet, Moriarty—all that shit just disappeared for a second, and I wasn't seeing Nova the working girl. I caught my first glimpse of the girl I was in love with.

Less than thirty seconds later, Moriarty was "getting his load off".

"Whoa, he's really givin' it to her, isn't he?" Rag marveled.

My hand was shaking on the counter where I'd squished the steak package, and I turned on my heel with a growl and tossed the thing into the wall behind me. My heart was beating like I'd run a ten mile race, and I felt hot all over. I ran my hands over my patchy head, trying to keep my cussing and growling as quiet as possible, and fought from kicking shit in and throwing more crap around the bar. That would get both me and Nova in a whole new sack of trouble we didn't need.

About seven or eight minutes later, the both of them came down the steps. Moriarty's face was all flushed, and Nova's was ghostly white. She looked like she'd just been sick or something. She was also walking a little funny, too. Oh, fuck, it seemed a whole lot easier to just wind back and punch that fucker in the face when he got close. For everyone's sake, I kept my fist clenched on the side of my pants.

"Okay, here's what I've—what's this noise doing on?" Moriarty said, sitting down on the stool and switching the radio to off. He looked at me sternly, then said: "That bastard Creel took in the Simms boy. Andy and I shook on a verbal contract pertaining to property rights and who goes where at what time. Took about half an hour to get the little shit to agree, but the deal's done. Drugs, alcohol, and sex trade stay with _Moriarty's_, and Andy deals with food, beverages, and traveler supplies. Not that you need to know that, but you can imagine what took me so long to get it sorted out.

"About our little vault friend—when he comes into town, he reports to me first, and pays a penance of thirty caps or similar worth of marketable supplies. That means when he comes in, you come get me. I don't care if I'm stoned out of my tree or having the best sex of my life, you get me so I can appraise his offer. I don't trust that bastard, and I won't start giving him two inches of my trust.

"Nova, if he deals with you, remember to keep your ears open. Not for caps, considering our old supplier's riding the ferry as we speak, but if you hear anything suspicious that makes you think he's planning on taking over, you tell me. Everyone here is willing to ban together to kick him out, but we agreed he can be a wealthy source of income, so long as he doesn't pull any fucking tricks, so we'll let him stay and play in our sandbox for a while. And Gob, you watch what he does, too. You're the radfly on the wall, now. You're the best set of ears I got. Well, best set of eardrums, at the least.

"And now that Simms has serenaded us with his last song, I think it's important you two fend for yourselves."

Moriarty pulled something from his belt, then placed it on the table. Two knives, stained slightly with blood. My eyes flashed at it, and I looked back into Moriarty's face. I met his eyes on very rare occasions, considering he hated it when I looked at him, but he met my gaze evenly.

"And this isn't just for John Doe. I don't want you back in Doc Church's again, or I charge you double the medical bill."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay," he said, slapping the table and leaning back. "I'm glad we had that talk."

Nova picked up her knife gingerly, turning it over in her hands before she slipped it into her boot. When she stood up again, she looked at me the same way she had before she climbed the stairs. I felt my breath threaten to hitch, and I looked away, trying to recover.

"I'm going to do some business around town," Moriarty said, getting off the stool and heading for the door. Then he stopped, turned, and pointed at me. "Remember what I told you, that kid comes in, you come find me."

"Sure thing, Moriarty."

"Rag!" he snapped. The guy jumped on the spot, then rushed over to Moriarty, following him out. The door slammed behind them once again.

I clutched the knife in my hand, my knuckles going a light shade of yellow. I pounded the counter with it—it hurt a little, but I did a good job of not letting it show—then I growled: "Goddammit!"

"What's gotten into you?" Nova asked. She touched my shoulder, then rubbed it a bit. "You okay, Gob?"

I was a little too self conscious about her rubbing my shoulder, so didn't answer her right away. I started to calm down pretty quickly—it was almost hypnotic, her touching me. At least it was a little more durable now than it was when she tried to jump me. "Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?"

"What, you mean—" she took her hand back and laughed. "Hah, of course I'm okay. Give me some credit here, Gob. I'm tougher than I look."

I glanced up at her face, which seemed pretty amused. "I just mean... well, that look you gave me..."

"I've rolled around in the hay plenty of times to be desensitized to it." She paused. "That look was just..." she reached for another cigarette. "I'm fine."

I looked at her hips, then looked away just as quickly, feeling a blush come to my cheeks. "You seem like you took a number."

"Oh. Well, yeah, I won't be able to sit properly for a week or two," she said with that lifeless laugh of hers that she always used with customers. "But it's nothing I haven't been through before. Stop fawning over me, Gobbie."

"Yeah. Just worried, is all."

"Well, now I think Colin can do the worrying for the both of us," she said, fingering the knife I still held. "He hasn't been so on edge since Simms first decided he was Captain America of Megaton."

"You got that right," I said.

"You're pretty testy, too," Nova said, then seemed to somber up a little. "Did I piss you off again?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, Nova, I'm not mad at you."

"Okay. Well, you can be straight up with me if I did, you know," she said. I looked up to catch a little grin on her lips. It wasn't the crooked seductress smile she used on the customers—it was a genuine grin. I hadn't seen one before. Her smiles were always lopsided, always half empty. I looked at her smile for what seemed like a long time. And before I knew what I was doing, I leaned in toward her.

Nova stepped back, her head craned away from me. I snapped back too, mostly out of surprise of her moving so quickly, and my eyes shot wide. She was staring at me with a bewildered look, and I was staring back the same way.

Did I just do that?

Nova was still dumbstruck a few seconds later, and I finally collected my wits and looked away quickly. Oh, shit, oh shit oh shit. I didn't just do that. I was just thinking it. I did _not_ just do that.

"Sorry," I mumbled quietly, then reached for the rag on the counter and started wiping things up again. You'd think with all that time spent wiping it down, it'd be a spotless piece of metal, but it still looked like shit, no matter how hard I scrubbed at it.

Nova didn't say anything. From the corner of my eye, I could see her stuff the cigarette in her mouth, her face still shocked, then she turned towards her usual post on the wall by the bathroom.

Oh, fucking Christ, I _did_ just do that. Shit, shit, shit.

I scrubbed and scrubbed while she smoked, and I prayed to whatever god there was to pray to for someone to walk in through the front door. Nobody came though. I kept rubbing at this one spot on the counter which didn't fade away, and I gave up the battle after a few minutes. I sighed heavily to myself, looking at Nova out of the corner of my eye. She still had that "Holy fucking cow" look on her face, and I felt it punch me in the stomach. I glared down at the radio, then flicked it on again.

* * *

We were pretty busy that night. Everyone had decided it would be a good idea to jam pack themselves into _Moriarty's_ to talk about the recent death of Simms. Moira was there, Confessor Cromwell and his wife were in the bar, to everyone's surprise. Even Jericho was allowed back in under very tight and strict rules. In other words, he never approached the bar, and he didn't so much as glance at me. Anyway, the only one missing that I knew of was Billy Creel—thank God for that. I'd have to slap the man silly for abandoning an orphaned kid at home with only Maggie for company. So, needless to say, it was stifling hot, it was crowded, it was loud, and it left me alone in my own quiet little world.

I didn't know what to think. My automatic reaction would normally be something along the lines of disgust, but I just kind of felt shocked, like someone pulled the carpet out from under my feet. I also felt like a bitch. But what was new? I always felt like a bitch when it came to Gob. He could preach all he wanted that I was so nice to him, that I was his beacon of golden light or some crap like that, but I felt like I was using him like a napkin, and the napkin just kept smiling back at me, no matter what kind of shit I wiped on it next.

"Lucas Simms—may his soul rest in the undying Glow," Cromwell said from somewhere in the middle of the room, "was the only advocate of justice in our most holy domain. Without him, we, the people of Megaton, have only the power and grace of Atom to pray upon for protection."

"Jericho does a pretty good job with keeping out the threats," Lucy said. She was smooshed next to him and his wife from the crowd. A few other people turned to join the conversation when she added: "Not to mention we've got Deputy Weld and Stockholm at the gates.

"Ah, yes, child, we have protection from the outside," he said, his voice carrying over everyone else's as they began to quiet down. He lowered his voice, his eyes darting to Moriarty. "It's protection from the _inside_ I'm concerned about."

"I hate to admit it, but I agree with Crom-bomb," Walter said, talking with his hands. The whiskey he had in his glass sloshed around as he waved it enthusiastically. "Things are gonna go to shit in this little pit, and I almost don't wanna be around to see it happen. We need someone to sit on the other end of the scale—balance things out."

"Quit yer blabbering," Colin hollered.

"Well, I don't know, Colin," Moira said from the bar, sipping on her Nuka-Cola. "I think everyone's thinking the same thing. Maybe we should have a vote or something—oh! A sociology experiment!" I saw her pull a pen from her breast pocket and start writing something down on her hand excitedly. I rolled my eyes a little, then tried desperately to go back to my thoughts, even though I really didn't want to be in them.

"Hah! Vote. You sound like Eden or some psycho asshole like that," Jericho jeered.

"Hey, watch your mouth!" Nathan called.

"That wouldn't work. Besides, who'd you vote for?" Jenny said. Her and Leo had come from the Brass Lantern, but Andy refused. It was likely that he was the only guy sitting in his bar, grumbling sourly over how Moriarty stole his business or something.

By now, the entire bar had quieted down enough to listen in on the collective conversation that was going on. She added: "We don't have anyone in this town that comes even close to what Simms was."

"No, not in this town," Manya said, her shaky voice ringing out. It almost sounded grave or excited. Probably both. "The Outsider."

_John_.

I looked over to Colin to gage his reaction. Both him and Gob were behind the crowded counter, and both had pale, slack faces. Rag stood next to them, and he shrugged his shoulders. "That sounds like an idea."

"_Shut up!_" Moriarty hissed, smacking him on the back of the head so hard, the vodka that he'd been holding flew out of his hand and splashed across the counter. The entire bar lit up with roars of laughter.

"That jackass?" Jericho almost yelled. "He struts around this place pretending that his shit don't stink like ours. He don't care about this place. He wouldn't do good for any of us."

"I don't know," Leo said. "He's the one who helped out with that raider problem."

"That was one raider problem," Colin snapped back.

"Well, there's more than that," some Wastelander said from the bar. "I've heard lots of rumours about him."

"Yeah," another said, "I heard he's the one behind Paradise Falls!"

"I heard he wiped out a small settlement south from here."

"I've heard he's a cannibal—that he wanders with those hunter freaks."

"Did you hear about the Brotherhood of Steel? I heard he took out a whole band of them."

"Oh, shut the fuck up!" Colin shouted shrilly. "You all sound like a bunch of pre-war Boy Scouts telling Pint-Sized Slasher stories."

Walter took a sip of his drink, teetering a little. "I heard those stories was true," he muttered to the trader next to him. Moira was scribbling notes madly into her palm.

"I think we've got no choice," Lucy said flatly. "We can't go back to 'Wasteland Justice'. We need someone to keep things in order."

I felt a sudden tug of dread pull at me when I realized that they were all considering John as their leader. "No." The word flew from my mouth before I could stop it. Everyone turned to me, and I stared back at them. I shook my head. "Not him. He's not right. Send a letter with a caravan up to the Regulator HQ or something. We can hire one of them."

"That could take weeks," Doc Church said matter-of-factly. "Besides, we're not guaranteed to get one of those bastards to actually come to this shit hole. They'd want a truckload of caps, which we don't have."

"Well, let's pretend some of those stories are a little on the true side," Jenny said. "That would mean he's at least a competent Wastelander. Maybe he'd have the proper know-how to keep things in line."

"Would you all listen to yourselves?" Colin snapped. I could hear it in his voice—he was nervous that they were actually considering John, too. "You're talking about a man—a_ boy—_you barely know. He's young enough to be Jericho's grandson, for Christ's sake. And, considering some of those stories _are_ true," he said, eying Jenny down, "that could also mean he's an evil fucking bastard."

"But he's not," Mother Maya said. "I've seen his heart. Atom blesses him."

"Then let us call a vote," Cromwell said, and everyone in the bar cheered.

"They're actually doing this," Colin muttered to himself. He was drowned out by a loud murmur of agreement across the bar. I felt my heart shrinking in my chest. They really were.

"Alright, then," Colin boomed. "Those of you who aren't permanent residents—get the fuck out until further notice."

People slowly began to get up and leave, taking their drinks with them, and soon the bar was half as full as it was to begin with. Jenny threw a thumb over her shoulder at the door. "Shouldn't we get Andy?"

"Jenny, I trust your judgment on Andy's beliefs. You can vote twice." What Colin was really saying was, "Fuck no, I won't have that slimy shit in my saloon."

"May I?" Moira asked Colin, leaning over the counter with a glint in her eye. He rolled his eyes and motioned to her, nodding briefly.

"Okay!" she said excitedly, standing up on her stool. "Everyone in favour, say 'aye'."

Voices shot at her from all directions. She swung her head around, looking at all our faces. "Oh, I suppose that doesn't work," she said, looking puzzled. "Okay, those in favour, put up your hand."

I felt like I'd been cheated somehow. Almost everyone in the bar put up their hand. Rag slowly started to raise his, and Moriarty shoved him so hard he collided with the counter, knocking over a bunch of empty bottles. I nearly dropped my cigarette on the floor.

"Okie then," Moira said, "It's nine in favour, so I guess we don't need to count the others. Unless you want official records, and some of you are abstaining—"

"That'll be all, Moira," Colin said bitterly. She hopped off the stool and scribbled some more notes down on her hand like a little kid who just found a giant Sugar Bomb stash. Moira's a sweet girl—woman, I guess I should say—but I wanted to punch her teeth out just then.

"God bless America," Nathan said admiringly, a hand over his heart. "True Democracy. _God bless America_."

"Usually the candidates know they're candidates before they're voted on in a fucking democracy," Colin retorted. "Someone ask Simms to—ah, fuck it...." I guess we were gonna have to get used to not having Simms around; try to get accustomed to some teenager from Vault 101. "I'll inform the kid what we've decided next I see him." Obviously, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"And get his name, too," Walter slurred. "Me callin' him Joe just doesn't do him justice."

"What if he declines?" Jenny asked.

Nobody said anything. I thought I saw someone scratch their head out of the corner of my eye.

"If he doesn't agree to it, then we get no-one else," Colin said wearily, like all he wanted to do was get some sleep and forget this fuck-up happened. "Each man for himself for once."

Translation: "This is my saloon, my town, and I'll see to law and order as I please, cocksuckers."

"I put forth a motion to adjourn this meeting," Moira said, radiating giddiness. It was honestly sad to see how much joy she got out of nothing.

It was quiet, then Rag muttered, "I second—" and Colin shoved him again.

"Someone bring in the other customers. If I hear anyone putting forth anymore motions or votes or orgies with our newfound saint, I'll toss yer arse to the catwalk, understood?"

People were quiet at first, then Jericho reached for the door and wrenched it open. Traders and Wastelanders poured back into the doors, muttering between themselves and not hesitating to ask questions to people nearby of what had happened. Soon the noise started picking up again, and my little closed off world built itself back up, but this time they knocked down my walls and gave me a new shit storm to think over. I had the biggest urge to look over at Gob to see what he was thinking, but I stopped myself, remembering. There was that tug of war again—I didn't know what to think, and I certainly didn't know what it was I felt.

I stared at my feet, just hoping all that crap would be gone when I looked up.

* * *

I woke up with the biggest shivers I had since I threw out the Jet. I felt sick to my stomach, and I curled into a ball, hoping it would go away soon. Jet, Jet, JetJetJet. Did I ever just want a big gulp of Jet in my lungs then. My hands rubbed at my chest and my breaths started coming out raggedly, like it was fire I was breathing instead of air. I clutched at the mattress, trying to wait for the storm to pass, and then I let go. I couldn't do it anymore. I needed to find something and _now_.

I turned over and got to my feet quickly. I staggered a little, being as unstable as I was. Before I knew what I saw, I felt that weird pulling sensation in my stomach—the kind you'd get if you've been caught stealing or something. The light was dim, but Colin kept it on in the hall once in a while. That's how I could see Gob standing in the doorway, a look on his face that must've looked just as guilty as mine. He actually looked just as caught off guard as he did just before he tried to kiss me.

"Nova," he whispered hoarsely. He sounded really surprised, like he didn't expect to find me sleeping in my room while he stood in the doorway.

"Yeah?" I said, my voice shaking. He knew. Oh, God, he must've known what I was thinking, and now he was gonna guilt trip me for all I was worth.

He didn't say anything, but it all worked out on his face. He was trying really hard to tell me something, but he couldn't physically force it out. We stood there, obviously both too scared to move before the other.

"Uh..." he muttered, looking everywhere but at me. "Sorry."

He said sorry all the time, but this was different. I'll admit it, though it doesn't sound like me—it was heart wrenching. I couldn't even feel bad enough for him. I wondered how all the things I did—and didn't do—must've crushed him little by little, and I could finally hear the result in his voice when he muttered that one word. He wasn't sorry for trying to kiss me. I got the distinct impression he was sorry for just—I dunno, living. Being there with me. Nova and Gob: Beauty and the Beast. Poor Nova, right? Nowhere else to go but where Gob is. He was a burden, and there wasn't any pulling out for any of us.

It must've been a lot of things—that stupid election, the pain in my ass, that kid, Simms's murder, the Jet burning, Gob's unshared crush—that got to me, because I _never_ cried in front of anyone. I didn't even let that bastard who screwed me the first time see me cry. In fact, I hadn't cried since then. But I could feel the burning in my nose and my eyes, I could feel my face take on a life of its own as it twisted up, and once the first tear dropped down my face, the dam broke, and I let out the ugliest sounding sob I'd ever heard before I slapped a hand across my mouth to shut myself up.

I didn't see the look on Gob's face because I squeezed my eyes shut in a useless attempt to stop crying, but I could hear it all in his voice. "Nova?" He started walking towards me, and I felt him hesitate before he touched me awkwardly on the shoulder.

That did it. Whatever willpower I had left to hold up my tough chick shield just fell apart, and I collapsed against him and wrapped my arms around him. He leaned away slightly and held his arms up, like a mole rat just tried to cuddle up to him.

"Fuck," I muttered through my tears. There were a lot more meaningful things I would've liked to say, but I couldn't get around to it. "Fuck!" I cried quietly.

I could feel my tears just soaking his shirt, and eventually his arms came around me slowly, like he was making sure he wouldn't burn them by accident by touching me. After that, he started stroking my hair. It just made me cry harder. I was worse than scum, and he thought I was the rose in the thorn bush, or whatever that means. I heard it once, but I have no clue was roses are. Were, I mean.

He didn't say anything. I must've cried for... oh, twenty minutes, at the least. Sometime after five minutes he started swaying side to side gently with me, and I kinda liked it. It made me feel shitty at first—one, he was treating me too nice, and two, big ol' tough Nova was getting cuddled like a big baby—but it really was soothing. It felt nice to lean my head up against someone's chest. I'd always heard of girls doing that sort of thing, and I never had that chance. I used to think it was the sorriest crap for a guy to go through, and even more bullshit for a girl to enjoy, but I never felt more calm, or... peaceful, something like that. I guess, truthfully, it wasn't just leaning up against just anyone's chest. I was glad it was Gob.

When my twenty minutes of Nova Melt Down were starting to end, I was being mesmerized by the rhythm of his chest going up and down with his breathing, and how his rocking and hair stroking kind of followed the same pattern. I'd never been held like that before—not that I would've let anyone do that in my right mind, not even my old lady if she were alive to do it—but it was nice. Well, nicer than nice, but I'm not a wealth of really meaningful words to use for situations like these. After I calmed down, I felt his breathing and his hand on my hair, and I forgot all about the burning in my lungs and all the shit that was dragging me down.

"You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"Sorry."

"Stop saying that," I said angrily, making sure to keep my voice down. "You've gotta stop apologizing for everything."

I could almost feel the "Sorry," getting ready to come out of his mouth, but he caught himself before he said anything. "Okay," he settled for.

We were quiet for a while. Then I asked, "What were you doing at my door?"

"I..." he barely said. I didn't look up from his chest, and he didn't let me go either.

Then a smile crept across my lips. "Do you stand there a lot?"

His hand slowed on my hair for a second, his swaying slowed a little, then he muttered: "Sorry."

"Gob."

"That I can apologize for. I feel creepy now."

"Nah, don't feel creepy."

He didn't let go, and I didn't want him to, really. I'd never felt so fuzzy before, not even with Jet, as much as I hate to admit it. I kept smiling against his soaked shirt, feeling light in his swaying.

"Thanks, Gobbie."

He laid his cheek on top of my head.

"You can say no, I don't care—mind," I whispered almost too quietly for him to hear. "You wanna stay with me tonight?"

It felt like an entire minute before he said, "Okay."

I let go—which I really didn't like; now I wanted to latch on to him more than I wanted Jet—and I shuffled back to the bed, laying down on the furthest side to give him room to lie down. It was like watching a snail race to the finish. He took a step forward, then half a step back sometimes, and I tried so hard not to laugh at him. I rolled away so that he didn't feel like I was watching him in his ridiculously slow pursuit of my mattress, and he finally made it to the bed. He laid down slowly, probably because of being nervous and to be as quiet as possible, and he kept an invisible barrier between me and him.

I caught myself gnawing on the inside of my cheek, waiting for him to get closer. He sure did like to take his time with things like this—something I wasn't used to. A faint memory came to mind, and while I felt a little guilty for what it meant a few weeks ago, I said it with a smile now. "Put your arm back."

That's all he needed, I suppose. I felt him hesitate, which seems pretty standard for Gob, and he finally draped his arm over me. I got that same warm, protected feeling I did way back when. It was almost like he was some sort of perma shield that actually kept all that crap away from me. I didn't know exactly what that meant for me or Gob, but I just settled for dozing in that—_nice_ feeling, wondering why I didn't get him to do this every night.

"Nova?" he whispered, wondering if I was still awake.

"Mm?" I said dreamily.

I could hear him trying to work out the words again, just like he had when I caught him at the door. "Eugene," he said.

One of those non-tough Nova smiled broke across my face. "Really?"

"Yeah. I almost forgot, actually."

I kept beaming in the dark, and I sighed out of content. I remembered, too, though I thought I left her behind a long time ago. I guess you can't get rid of some parts of your past, no matter how deep you bury it. "Nancy," I replied.

I hadn't felt better in years.

Then we fell asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Ten

"Hey—"

"Make it quick—they hate it when I talk to customers."

Nova snorted over her bottle of water and shot me a humoured look, and I grinned back. We heard Moriarty chewing Rag out earlier in the morning for shooting his mouth off more than the saloon's "Gob," and that had been the end of his arrogant yapping. I felt a little bad at first for being amused by it, but it was so hard to feel sorry for that sorry mop bucket. I realized that that was how some people must have seen me, and I suddenly felt a trickle of pride run down my spine. I wasn't the town's lowest, grubbiest loser anymore. Call me a jackass for saying it, but I couldn't deny that Rag practically being spat on made me feel better about myself.

"Uh... just wanted some boo—"

"TalktoGob!"

Nova bowed her head towards the counter and started laughing harder, and her shoulders shook as she tried to keep it in.

The Wastelander came around the corner and nearly jumped. He eyed me like a wild dog must eye a yao guai once it realizes what it's in for. But I eyed this guy like he was wearing a pink pre-war dress and dancing for me.

"Christ! What the fuck are you?"

I looked him up and down closely, and then I realized he wasn't a Wastelander. Nova and me had been talking when he'd come in, so I didn't get a look of him until now. You couldn't tell where he was from at first because he had a leather jacket on, and it was shiny, like it'd never seen the sun before. Then I realized it hadn't. _He _hadn't. The blue jumpsuit was still clean, like he didn't even walk outside to get to Megaton at all.

"Another vault kid, huh?" I said wearily.

Nova's head snapped up, and she looked at the guy standing there. His hair was slicked, just like John's used to be, but it had a comical poof to it up top. I glanced over at her, and I thought her heart stopped for a second. All the humour was gone. It was the same kind of face she had every time John would walk in, whether she was happy to see him or not.

"You look like... fuckin'..."

"A zombie?" I offered. "Christ, what's new? Do you need a drink or something, pal?"

The guy stared at me with a horror struck face, looked to Nova, then back at me again. He ducked his head and pulled a comb from his pocket, shakily running it through it perfectly groomed hair. "Yeah, get me some whiskey."

"Sure thing," I mumbled. I got his whiskey off the shelf, put it on the counter, then said: "Ten caps, buddy."

He looked at me like I just told him to fuck his mother. "Whadid you say, zombie?"

"Caps," I grumbled. "Got any?"

"Why can't you just give it to me?"

I gave a short laugh and looked over to Nova to share the joke, and she smirked a little, but part of the shock was still hanging around on her face. I turned back to the guy, putting on my bone-dry glare, and said:

"You gotta pay for your booze. Like... what do you use down there, tickets for food or something? It's like that, but in bottle caps. You could probably sell that jacket for quite a few."

"I ain't givin' up my Tunnel Snakes jacket," he bit back.

I picked the bottle of whiskey up from the counter, waving it slightly from wide to side before turning and putting it on the shelf again. I got back to the counter and leaned in close, making him flinch. I'd never thought of my looks as a threat before.

"No loitering."

"Huh?"

"If you're not gonna buy a drink, you've gotta get out."

"Fuck you!" he hollered. "You can't tell me what to do! You know who I am? I'm a member of the Tunnel Snakes, and Tunnel Snakes ru—"

I pulled my knife out from my belt, trying not to look nervous about it, and held it loosely on my hand while pitting my elbow on the table. He eyed it viciously, then stared back at me. "That's how it's gonna be, huh?"

"Look kid, this isn't the place you wanna start something," I warned. "Go get some caps before you come back again."

He looked over at Nova, and I glanced sideways at her, too. She had her knife in hand, but she was gently rubbing it over her cheeks, her mouth, then her jawline... I was a little caught off guard, probably as much as he was, because she had that usual seductive smile on her face. I felt like I was torn between being creeped out and turned on.

"Beat it, kid," she said softly, still smiling.

He bared his teeth a bit, then slid off the stool, glaring at us both. I tried not to look a little bothered, and he jabbed a closed switchblade at me. "You better watch yourself, zombie!"

"See you soon," I grumbled back with a bit of a smirk. He flashed me his teeth in a snarl once more before turning on his heel to leave the saloon, and I put the knife back under my belt. Lucy gave him wide eyes as he went.

As soon as he got to the door, it opened, and a gale of bright afternoon light hit us square in the face. This was the kind of thing that happened all the time; when some new customer came in, it was like a game. Try to guess who's coming in through the door before the light goes away. Well, I guessed in the back of my mind, and sure enough, I was right, even though I didn't want to be.

John stood by the closed door, looking at the greaser kid with a face I hadn't ever seen on him before.

"Butch," he said, monotone. But it was strange—it was weak, maybe.

"You!" Butch shouted, taking a step back. "The fuck are you doin' here?"

"I would like to ask you the same thing," he said calmly, "but I don't think it's important to know."

"You asshole!" the guy named Butch shouted, reaching out to grab the scruff of the shirt poking out from under John's armour, which was a little weird to see, since John had a good two or three inches on Butch. But he let the guy do it without so much as a flinch. "You fucked things up royally for us down there! Now things've gone to shit, man! It's all your fuckin' fault!"

"No," John said calmly, grabbing Butch's wrist and taking it off him as peacefully as possible. "That was the vault resident doctor."

"Yeah, your dad!" Butch said, then spat at his feet. "Man, thought you'd be dead by now."

"Likewise," John muttered, eying Butch with contempt.

"Fuck, man," Butch said, his voice going slightly whiny. "You gotta go back there. Amata's pop, he—she—we—goddammit, take some fuckin' responsibility."

"Amata?" John said, his demeanor changing.

"Yeah, it's us against them down there. Guards shooting at us rebels and us trying to get up from the basement... pretty fucked up stuff."

John looked like he was considering seriously what Butch had told him, then shook his head.

"No. There's nothing I can do there now."

"You lousy bastard!" Butch yelled, shoving John's shoulder. "You didn't even want to help me save my mom, I shoulda known you were a selfish prick from the start!"

"Were you able to save your mother?" John asked, but he didn't actually seem to care.

"That's not the point," Butch snapped back, getting more emotional than before. "You don't care about anybody but yourself." He jabbed at John's chest to emphasize his point.

John's brow furrowed a bit, and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything for a couple seconds. Then his shoulders shook a little with a quiet, dry chuckle, and the corner of his mouth curled just a bit. "And I suppose you were the omnipresence of comfort in everyone's life, Butch?"

I didn't know this greaser character, but by now I was expecting some sort of comeback from him. He didn't offer any, though.

"I let you say whatever you wanted to me our entire lives, thinking it would empower you somehow—boost your self-esteem. God knows, with the life you led, you needed it."

"Up yours!"

"Is your mother dead, or is she still drowning her life away under a river of whiskey and rye?"

"Oh, you fucking punk—!"

As if on cue, Moriarty came in through his office door, and then I remembered I was supposed to go fetch him when everyone's favourite Vault Dweller showed up. Fuck me, he would probably look angry.

I looked over my shoulder at him. Yup, fury and rage, all glowing under that wild white hair of his.

"Ah, look who it is," Moriarty said, tucking his anger away for later, "and you've brought a friend! Blessed be, Lord knows how much we love our vault boys."

"Moriarty," John said, giving him a nod. Butch was staring at Moriarty a little bewilderingly. "I'd like to speak with you."

"As I you," he chimed enthusiastically. "Please, come inside."

John started towards the counter, and I watched him walk around. As he got closer to the end, I caught a glimpse of Nova. Her eyes were downcast and her lips were pursed tightly. She held the knife under her chin in her hand, and it seemed like she stopped breathing for a second. As he walked by, he didn't even glance her way. I should've been at least a little happy about this, but it made me even angrier. Well, no matter what, I always got angry at John, so that shouldn't have been a surprise. But it was something of how he treated her, I suppose. It was like not looking at her was his way of disrespecting her, and I wanted to pull my knife on him and make him look at her, goddammit.

He walked by me, and I felt a growl rising in my throat. I bogged it down with all I had.

"Oh, and Gob," Moriarty muttered, grasping my shoulder. "Get that fuck face out of here, will you?"

I nodded, worrying that if I said anything I'd end up roaring like a feral instead. I rounded the counter, walked towards Butch, and rested my hand on the hilt of my knife. "Okay, pal, get a move on."

"Aw, fuck you," Butch growled as he threw the door open and slammed it behind himself.

"Friendly neighbour, isn't he?" Lucy said. I grumbled in return.

As I started back to the counter, I found Nova had already taken up post right next to the door by the radio, listening in on the conversation. Her eyes were still turned down and she seemed faraway, twisting the knife slowly in her hand absentmindedly. I could hear John's smooth voice speaking from behind the door, and it hit me like a sledge hammer to the gut.

She still had a thing for him after all.

I stopped in the middle of the floor for a second, the thought literally halting me in my tracks. I stared at her face, mulling it over in my brain, then tried to recover like nothing happened. Maybe I was being too paranoid and jealous, but every time she got that far off look on her face I felt like everything that happened between us didn't exist for her anymore; Gob was swept aside like an empty tin can in John's big gust of wind. That was the only thing about him that didn't make me angry, it just made me regress back to old, useless, good for nothing Gob.

So I tried to keep my feet from shuffling and my shoulders from slumping as I walked back around the corner of the counter, and avoided looking at her as I took my place by the register, trying to concentrate on the conversation behind the door. Back where I always was.

"...ure to inform you that the town wants you to replace Simms as our arbiter of law and order, as it were."

"Yes, I heard about that coming back into town," John said. "And that's why I came here, to speak with you. I assumed that whatever decision making went on had to involve you, so I found it appropriate to tell you that I decline."

"Really?" Moriarty sneered, not even trying to pretend to be disappointed.

"Really. I've a trade route in order, and it's close to legitimacy. I have more interest in that than this town—no offence."

Moriarty coughed a laugh. "'No offence'. Huh. Well, I can't tell you I'm sad to see you turn it down, but to be honest, the rest of this town is gonna be."

"That's unfortunate, but I can't do anything about that."

"Well, in that case, there's something you can and will do for me," Moriarty said evenly. "A visitor's tax, created especially for you, Jack. Or whoever you are. You pay me thirty caps, or you get lost."

"Just in this saloon or Megaton itself?"

"When in Megaton's gates, you come see me first, or I have the hounds after you," Moriarty replied. "And if you be staring a trade route, I'd be accepting booze and narcotics or like substances that I can sell."

It was silent, and for a split second I assumed John was glaring Moriarty down in protest, but then Moriarty said heartily: "That should do."

"Is this tax a daily occurrence, or simply every time I come in?"

"Depends on how business is doing," Moriarty replied, then added quickly: "might as well hang around for a few hours. Visit with Nova, perhaps. She hasn't seen much business lately."

"I think I'll do that."

I cringed, shutting my eyes and turning my head away. I didn't like anyone talking about her like some sort of toy, even though that was her job. I knew it bothered me way more than it bothered her.

"Good doing business with you," Moriarty chimed. "I'm glad you're easy to persuade."

"Not necessarily," John said, moving towards the door. "Just sensible."

The door opened up, and I let them pass, keeping my eyes down turned like Nova's. I was a little relieved to know that Megaton wasn't gonna be at that maniac's mercy, but I was too caught up in my own disappointment to really care about it at that moment. Man, Nova could crinkle her nose and it would make me have a shitty day.

And as John rounded the counter and started towards Nova with caps in hand, I kept my eyes on the floor, working my jaw to keep myself from screaming.

"The going rate still the same?" John asked simply, handing out his caps for her.

I heard her customary chuckle, meaning she'd had no problem getting back into gear, and she said, "'Course it is, hon."

I kept trying to tell myself otherwise, but I couldn't shake the idea that she had no problem saying those words, and that she'd been waiting to say them for a long time.

Nova led the way, and my neck ached to look up and catch her eye, but I didn't. Without so much as muttering a few words, I felt like my heart'd been broken. I guess I should've figured it wouldn't be hard to, considering who I gave it to.

Moriarty came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. I sighed inwardly, braced myself, and turned around.

He slapped me.

"_Yew_ fuck up," he growled, then walked away.

* * *

I'd had my fair share of Wasteland creeps, old fogeys, even lonely and socially awkward women, all of them on the wrong side of attractive or human looking. I also had a number of not so bad looking customers under my belt, too. Before I would've considered John the best blessing a whore could have: he was attractive, _good_ in bed, and seemingly smoother than silk (even though he now had a beard and a scruffy head, he was still god-like in my opinion). But that hour in the working room was the worst of my career, mainly because he continued to be all of those things, and I wanted to be eating handfuls of rusty nails instead.

Despite all my willpower, he still made me come. To put it plainly, I probably felt as some of my customers felt when they blew their load in me and realized that they just fucked something that wasn't their woman. And when I thought he was done... well, I suppose every customer is eager to get his money's worth out of an hour.

He slowed down, and when I thought he was gonna get off and get me to lean back with him, he flipped me over, smirked at me, and growled: "On top."

So I put on my working smile again, pretending I wasn't just grimacing at my pillow, then shoved him over lightly and climbed on top. I'd never felt turned on and sick to my stomach before at the same time. I somehow managed to perform, but I did it by avoiding his eyes. Luckily, he didn't notice, or care, for that matter.

He grasped my hips and pulled me around, and I moaned half out of it feeling so _fucking_ good, and partly because I really didn't want it to. I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure build up, and I bit my lip. _I'm not here right now, I'm not with this guy right now, I'm...._

I felt Gob's arms around me—his hand stroking my hair, the way it felt to sway back and forth with him so close—

I cried out, trying to muffle the sound as best I could, despite whoring rule number three or four: _dramatize the shit out of it, honey_. I don't think he cared about that either, though, because he looked like he'd spent himself too much to notice anything.

He squeezed my thighs, then relaxed on the bed. He looked up at me, and I flickered my eyes over his.

"Thanks, Nova," he muttered sensuously, "I needed that."

I shrugged a little, pulling off of him. "Any time," I muttered weakly before I slipped next to him, as was the ritual. He didn't wrap his arm around me this time, though, and I was a little thankful for it. I didn't think I could bear him touching me with any more than his hands or his dick.

"Do you have some cigarettes I could buy off you?"

"On the house," I replied, leaning over the bed and swatting at my skirt. I plucked a cigarette from my pocket and handed it to him, then swiped a match off the wall and held it up to light it. I suddenly realized that he was actually smoking. I didn't think he'd ever commit to smoking.

"Thanks," he muttered with the cig between his lips, then leaned back from me to pull it out and blow out a breath of smoke. I shook the match out, watching him carefully.

"Everyone in the Wasteland smokes, you know," he said, turning the thing this was and that like he was appraising it. "You'd think they'd all be gone by now."

"Yeah," I muttered. "That's probably why they're so expensive."

"I'll make that one of my top goods, then," John said, flicking the ashes into the ashtray on the side table. "Maybe Moriarty could add it to the menu; I'm sure we could set up a deal to sell them for cheap."

"Good luck, honey," I said, without a hint of sarcasm. "I'd like to do business with cheap smokes."

"I'll look in to it," he assured, puffing on the cigarette and watching the clouds rise. He settled back, and he didn't say another word. I didn't get up, though; that was rule seven or something. _Don't finish until you're told you're finished_. But damn, I wanted to get out of there. I never had a problem with my job until now. Up until I came thinking on Gob.

And then the biggest wave of shock came over me as I realized that's exactly what just happened.

I sat propped up in bed, staring at the far wall with slightly bugged eyes. I kept perfectly still, mainly because the thought: _Holy shit_ took up my ability to do anything else. John smoked his cigarette in silence until it was finished, and I kept replaying the whole scenario over in my head, thinking that if I did it long enough, it would just reverse itself and then I'd realize it didn't actually happen.

"I think I'm gonna go downstairs and get something to drink."

But it did happen.

* * *

We got back downstairs, and a few more customers had trickled in. John went right for the bar. This time, instead of trying to get Gob's attention, I avoided looking at him. But when John ordered his Scotch and Gob started making it, I leaned against my usual spot and glanced his way. He didn't seem inclined to make eye contact either.

"Nova," Colin said, suddenly standing next to me. I jumped a little, then looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Jumpy, aren't you?"

"Sorry, hon," I mumbled, rubbing my palms on my skirt.

Colin looked over at where John sat, staring into his scotch idly, then turned back to me. "He say anything to you?"

I'd forgotten Colin wanted me to spy on him. Lucky for me, I guess, John didn't seemed inclined to spill his heart out to me this time.

"No, he was pretty quiet, actually."

"You sure?"

I tilted my head and looked at him with as much attitude I could dare without getting the shit beat out of me. "Yes, Colin, I'm sure."

"Alright," he said, a little disappointed. I could almost feel the need for him to get John's dirt under his nails, roll around in it, and bribe him for all he was worth. I don't know how he expected a guy like John to confess all his apparent crimes to a whore in some shit town, but I suppose Colin was the type to put his ear to every door and miss nothing if it were possible.

"Listen, Jericho was outside last night for some reason and fended off a small group of raiders off of Doc Hoff's caravan. I guess his mercenary was killed in the crossfire at some point. Anyway, considering most of his wares was part of my order, I've allowed the old bastard to come back in to _Moriarty's_ as he pleases, considering he saved me a shit-load of caps."

Oh, _fuck_. "Okay."

"Actually, I'm surprised he isn't in here right now. But I'd be expecting him sometime tonight."

I nodded again.

"So, you've kicked the Jet habit, have you?" Filling the silence. Colin didn't usually try to make small talk with me, considering he didn't actually care.

"Looks like," I said, faking a friendly looking smirk, just so he wouldn't think I was giving him lip.

"Good," he said. "You could use caps on better things. Or your time, whichever you were spending."

Some other settler walked in the door, and Colin made some sort of show of welcoming him into the bar, leaving me behind, thank God. Must've had a booze or drug deal going on with him—that's what it usually was when Moriarty welcomed someone in like that. I stole another glance at Gob, and his eyes were still glued to the counter, like that was as high as he could lift them. I looked away quickly, then patted my pockets down for another cigarette, trying to distract myself.

I'd broken rule number one with someone who'd never even been my customer.

* * *

The saloon was fairly busy that night. John had never left, but he paid another fee to Moriarty after a few hours without any protest. I was surprised to see that he was pretty drunk by eight at night—I didn't think it was even possible for him.

Sure enough, Jericho had shown up, and sure enough he hired me. It didn't last nearly as long as John's hour, but he tried doing his usual shit which got on my nerves even more. He didn't threaten to beat me this time (not that I was worried about it in the first place), and he didn't argue when I told him off about the affectionate crap, either.

Butch had shown up again, too. This time he did have caps to spend, and he gave them to Gob with a bit of an attitude for his precious whiskey. He sat on the opposite end of the bar from John, and neither of them made eye contact. Best of friends, apparently.

Everyone of the regulars who came back asked John about the mayor job. They were all disappointed in their own way when he said no—some stuck with a simple "That's too bad," to "But you have to," or "Screw you." Billy Creel dropped in, and simply sounded bewildered that he'd missed so much drama.

"Well, I suppose I'll be working more with you in the future, anyways, being that you're setting up a trade caravan and all," he said. "At least you'll still be around from time to time."

"Yes," John said, staring at the far wall and taking a sip of his umpteenth scotch.

By midnight, the only people left were Jericho, Butch, John, Doc Hoff, and one last customer for me to take care of. She was just some roving traveler that decided to pop into Megaton for a bit of business, including mine. She was the worst smelling thing since charred mole rat meat. But I bit back the nausea like a champ and finished the job, and she gave me a pretty good tip for it, too. Luckily, my mouth wasn't involved—I don't know if I would've had the willpower to do it without puking all over her.

She decided she wasn't going to pay the fee for the overnight stay, luckily for me, and she up and left in a hurry. I wiped myself off with a rag, then started dressing. And I realized that I just felt fucking exhausted. I was tired of this place, of whoring, of doing this shit all the time... I felt like I already knew how everyday of my life was going to play out, and I wasn't interested in seeing it through.

I buttoned up my jacket, pulled up my stockings, then just stood there in the room for a second. I closed my eyes and sighed. I was twenty something, and I was already having my midlife crisis. Well, I suppose given my career choice, that was a pretty good estimate of my lifespan.

The door creaked a bit, and I gasped, reaching for the knife in my boot. I got a closer look at the doorway, and I saw Gob looking at me through the crack.

"Oh, Jesus shit, Gob," I gasped. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I got Rag to watch the bar," Gob muttered quietly, then stepped inside. He was still looking down at the floor, like he had been all day. Like he couldn't look me in the eye.

"Colin didn't stop you?"

"He's busy in the back," he muttered, still looking away from me.

It was quiet for a second. "Gob, you doing okay?"

He looked up at me, then looked away just as quickly. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"What?"

"I—" he stammered, looking everywhere in the room. I could see his struggle playing out on his face, then he finally grumbled, blew out a breath, then looked up at me.

"I know I'm not good enough," he mumbled, tearing his eyes away, then forcing them back onto mine. "But he's not either."

I felt like he'd just slapped me, and I didn't know what for. "What are you talking about, Gob?"

"I'm talking about that asshole downstairs," Gob growled quietly. "I saw... I _see_ how you are around him, and it's hard, because—because I know nothing I can do can make you see me."

"What?" I whispered, staring him down. I must've looked like I was about to bite his head off, because he looked away quickly again. He cleared his throat, and crossed his hands behind his back, one grabbing at the door handle.

"I've been wanting to say that all day," Gob muttered more to himself than me. "I didn't think I ever would."

Only this man would make me feel the best and the worst. I actually felt like I was sinking into the floor, and I looked down at my boots, thinking of all the things he probably saw to make him believe I was actually still drooling over that maniac down at the bar.

I finally looked up and stepped closer to him. I could feel my palms tingle like they were about to start sweating. He didn't look up until I was standing nearly toe to toe with him. There was a little lamp in the corner of the room, and even though it was dim, I could still see his eyes flicking between me and the floor nervously.

I stood on my toes and put my arms around his neck, leaning my head on his shoulder again. I realized that I'd been waiting to do that since the last time we stood in my room together.

I laughed a little against his shirt as he lightly held me around the waist. Then those goddamn emotions started taking me over, but they were different. I didn't feel like crying again.

I pulled away from his shoulder so that I could look at his face. He was watching me, and for once I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Eugene?" I whispered.

He kept watching me.

"That's not true." Then I leaned in and kissed him.

The saloon exploded with a storm of bullets, and both of us jumped back from the door in surprise. Gob had his arm out protectively in front of me, and we both stared at the door in shock as the gunfire went off. It was a mix of everything, like everyone down there was shooting at everyone else at the same time—

Then it stopped, and we stood there, paralyzed.

Gob reached for the door first. He tore it open, then I went after him. We clambered down the stairs, nearly tripping over our own feet, we were so shocked out of our senses. When Gob got to the bottom, he looked two shades paler than usual before he shouted: "Holy _fuck!_"

I stumbled down next to him, then looked at the room. My jaw hung open, and I had to fight to keep my bladder in control. I thought that Burke's and Simms's deaths were messy, but this....

First of all, the front door was wide open, and a bit of blood was smeared on it. On the middle of the floor in front of it was Jericho, writhing around and swearing loudly. His shoulder looked blown off at the top, and there were a few scratches on his face where shrapnel must've grazed him. He was lying in a small pool of his own blood. The bar was the worst of all.

The counters and the walls around it were covered in it. Even the ceiling was splattered some. Gob rushed towards the other side of the bar, and I ran after him.

He nearly tripped over something heavy on the floor, and for a second I was sure it was a dead body. But it yelped as Gob's boots kicked into it, and I rounded the end to see it was Rag.

"They just started shootin' shit, man!" he yelled hysterically, wrapped up in a little ball on the floor. "They just—just—"

Gob stepped over Rag hurriedly, and I looked up to see him rushing towards Colin, who was sitting against the shelf that had fallen over and spilled booze everywhere. A few bottles broke, and it was running with the blood that covered the floor. I threw my hands over my mouth and swore.

He had a gaping crater in his stomach, and he was simply covered head to toe in blood. I couldn't even tell his face from his beard, they'd been drenched so much.

Gob knelt down in front of Colin and reached out, but his hands just hovered over the wound. Every time he tried to reach in close to touch it, he'd draw his hands back, as if he were afraid of burning himself or something. I thought Colin was dead, but then his bloody hand lunged up and grasped Gob by the scruff of his shirt. I screamed.

They stayed like that for what seemed like ages, and I could see the whites of Colin's eyes as he stared down Gob with a tight-lipped face. His entire body shook as he tried to pull him closer, and for a second, I was sure Colin would somehow kill him.

His eyes were still wide when he let go of Gob's shirt, and his hand fell lifelessly on the floor. There was a big red stain on Gob's shirt where Colin grabbed at him. He simply sat there, not moving from his spot in front of the body. We were paralyzed again, standing still in the middle of the bloody floor.

_What the fuck just happened? What just... what...._

Gob looked up at me, and I stared back at him, wide eyed. The only sounds in the room were of Rag's blubbering, Jericho's shouts of pain, and the murmur of voices coming from outside as people came to see just what happened at _Moriarty's Saloon_.

I don't remember how long we stared at each other, because the only thing I could think was:

_He's dead. Colin Moriarty is dead._


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

Chapter Eleven

I'd fantasized about a lot in my life, even before I was a ghoul. But while living in Megaton, I'd daydream about a whole slew of things. Probably the most frequent one I'd think about was Nova. Next was going on an adventure, kind of like John might've. I also had visions of fighting Moriarty and winning, pinning him down with a boot while I planted my hands on my hips victoriously and shot the town a prize-winning grin. But never did I even dare to picture him dead beneath me. Never in a million years did I see this coming.

Nova and I locked up shop to keep out the horde that swarmed around the saloon shortly after the gunfight, but Moira stayed behind to help us clean up. Rag was too hysterical to do anything, so we carted him off with the Cromwells to take care of him. I hadn't puked much in the past few decades, being that I had a stomach of steel to make up for the other things I lost as a ghoul, but when Moira and I carried Moriarty out the back door and his blood started to drip out of a hole at the bottom of the tarp, I had to drop his feet and spill everything I had underneath the saloon. He was _dead_.

It was the strangest thing to feel ever—I hated Moriarty more than I hated anyone, but it was a sustaining kind of relationship, I think. While I wanted nothing more than for him to burn in Hell, I couldn't picture life without him there. I wasn't a leader, I was a follower, and he always had commands to bark at me, he set the bar for what I did from day to day. I'd spent most of my life following orders and taking beatings, and knowing they wouldn't be there anymore... I wanted to be elated, but I felt nothing less than terrified not knowing what was gonna happen tomorrow, or the next day. I was scared of the idea of free will.

The way Moira took it all surprised me. She usually seemed chipper and oddly optimistic when it came to just about anything, but that night she was quiet. When she did say something, her voice was muted, dulled, like all the shine that used to be there was smothered. "Those boys don't mess around," she tried to joke, but her voice was so flat, I almost thought she was going to cry.

It took us most of the night to clean up from behind the bar, mostly because Moira was the only one doing any work. Nova and me were scrubbing the floor with a couple of mops and some rags. When she got to the spot where Moriarty had died, she had to get on her knees to scrub the stain. She kept at it, going harder and harder, and finally she screamed, throwing the rag against the wall and running for the stairs. I watched her go, her face pale and tense as she raced up the steps. When the door slammed, I jumped a little on the spot, looking at the bloody floor. It was so red, I felt my eyes burning from staring at it so much.

"I think you'd better go see her, Gob," Moira said weakly. "I don't think she's doing so hot."

Without a word, I rested my mop against the counter, then made my way around to the stairs. I climbed them slowly; I felt so exhausted, like I couldn't get anymore strength out of my legs to go any faster. When I got to her room, it was quiet, and I suddenly had visions of her mouth poised over an inhaler, her hand shaking as she tried to make the decision whether to push the pump or not. I felt so damned worried and tired from everything that I had to close my eyes and just breathe for a couple of seconds before I could knock on her door. When she didn't answer, I went in anyway.

She sat on her flimsy little mattress, her hands clutching the edge. Her whole body was tense—her shoulders stood up jaggedly, her feet stood by her toes and the muscles on her legs stood out from her tensing them. The only thing not so stiff about her was her head, because it hung low to the ground, and all I could see was her short, shaggy, red hair. I took a step in, and she said: "Go away, Gob."

"Nova," I said softly. I added a bit too much softness in her name for her liking, I suppose, because she scoffed and drew her wrist quickly over her eyes.

"This is fucked up," she said, her voice wavering. "I always thought this life was fine, and a little freedom wouldn't be too bad. But I didn't want this."

Her toes twisted on the ground, and her body shook a little. "What are we supposed to do?" she asked, then looked up at me. Her eyes were a little puffy and pink. "What happens now?"

"I don't know," I admitted. I thought I was the only one who felt weird and melancholy about Moriarty dying, but I saw everything in Nova with her eyes tearing and her chin quivering. "I don't like this, Gob," she said softly, then closed her eyes and let her head drop again.

I moved forward slowly, like I was trying to get close to an animal that would bite me on impulse, then sat down on the bed next to her. I thought I'd just end up sitting there with her for a while, but then she turned and wrapped her arms around me, resting her face in the crook of my shoulder.

I wrapped my arms around her, then sighed, feeling her body shake as she cried quietly into my neck. Moriarty, why'd you have to get shot to a bloody pulp now? You always were a selfish ass like that.

We eventually went back down to help Moira, but we both had to stop frequently and just get out of the room for a while. There was just too much to take in at once, too much blood to clean up, too much to really comprehend what it all meant.

By morning, most of it was gone. Moira left us, but we gave her a lump sum of caps from Moriarty's cabinet as a thanks. It felt so weird going in there, like I'd feel his hand clamp down on my shoulder at any second, and he'd beat me to a pulp for stealing. But he never did, and he never would. When I handed Moira her caps, my hands were shaking.

"You two take it easy," Moira offered. "I wouldn't open the saloon until you've got yourselves sorted out. Are you going to hold a funeral, or are you just going to leave him out front? I wonder what kinds of animals he would attract...."

I'd never thought of a funeral, because I could barely think of him as dead. "Uh, yeah, I guess so."

"Okay, well I'll see you out there later," Moira said, some of her chipper personality resurfacing. She waved to us, then left the saloon. Nova sat slumped in one of the stools at the bar, absentmindedly rubbing her fingers together and staring at some point on the back wall.

"He lost a lot of stock when that shelf fell over," Nova said distantly. "You think he'd be pissed?"

I leaned against the counter, keeping my eyes trained on that one dirty spot on the counter rather than her. "Yeah."

"Gob... when I asked you what happens now, I meant it," Nova said quietly. I looked over at her, and I saw her eyes had closed and her fingers stopped moving. "What are you going to do?"

"Huh?"

She opened her eyes and turned her head away from me. "Are you going back to Underworld?"

It hit me so fast I felt winded. I never thought about _leaving_, Christ forbid actually accepting that Moriarty had kicked the bucket. I stayed pitched on the counter, staring at the back of her head with a slack jaw. _I could go back home_.

"I was worried about that," Nova muttered, then slid off her stool. Without another word, she left the saloon, and I briefly thought: _Moriarty'll chew her out for leaving without asking_, then I quashed it. Moriarty's dead, I'm free to go, and Nova's so alone she's heartbroken.

I found Moriarty's keys in his cabinet, then locked the saloon behind me as I left. I felt weird being outside without permission, but I shook off the feeling and kept walking. There weren't many people around, and I wondered if anyone was keeping watch over Moriarty's body so that nobody defiled it or something. I decided now was as good a time as any to bury him if we were gonna do it at all; get it done and over with, then try to breathe.

I went down to Andy's, and I felt like I was exploring alien territory when I stepped in. The whole family was bunched together at the counter, and all three of them turned to look at me when I closed the door. I felt like they were scrutinizing me, like everyone did on a usual basis, and it actually helped me return to a bit of normality for a second. "I—I was wondering, if... would you help with the funeral? I want to do it right now."

Andy seemed like he was glaring at me for a second, then he straightened. "Fine. Right now?"

"That's—" _what I said. _That would probably sound like too much lip, earn me a punch in the gut or something. "Yeah. Right now."

"I'll help," Leo offered, then stepped away from the counter towards me. Jenny got off her stool, following after him. "I'll go tell people what's going on," she affirmed. Andy started walking slowly towards us, the glare still on his face, and I led the party out of the _Brass Lantern_ and towards the front gates.

Jericho was standing just outside with his rifle resting over his shoulder. When we got closer, he turned around, squinting at us. Moriarty's body lay at his feet, still wrapped up in that dirty tarp.

"Hey, plannin' on burying him now?" he asked.

"Yeah. Wanna help?" I returned.

"I guess so. There caps in it for me?"

_Fucking selfish prick bastard. _"Yeah, sure."

"A'right, then."

About a minute after we decided where we'd bury him (right next to Simms—we decided to get a graveyard going), Lucy and Billy came out with shovels, Maggie and Harden trailing behind them. The four of us guys—me, Jericho, Leo and Andy—started digging a grave. After about five minutes, we weren't even a foot deep in by half of the grave, and I already felt blisters build up on my skin and muscle tissue. More people started to show up. Mother Maya brought a torch. She did it for Simms's funeral too, apparently; it was some sort of tradition in the church where they lit a torch at a funeral and let it burn out. I didn't pretend to know what it was they planned to accomplish with that, but I think I partly understood.

When the grave started getting deeper, Just Leo and Andy kept working at it. Andy argued that I should be digging the rest of the fucking grave, considering it was my boss they were burying, but Jenny snapped at him and gave him the biggest glare I'd seen her give. Andy shut himself up, then finished the job.

Billy helped out Leo, and Jericho helped out Andy, who he almost dropped, then Nathan rushed over to finish hoisting him up. I looked around and realized that all of Megaton had come out, save for a few traders and rovers. I could even see Stockholm up atop the gates peering down at us. And then I saw Nova.

She was standing off to the back at the side with her head hung. I kept watching her intently, wishing she'd look up. Then Andy called my name, and I looked at him.

"Let's bring the body over here, huh?" he growled. I followed him, picked up the feet of Moriarty's body one last time, then helped Andy bring it over to the grave. We lowered it in, then we had to let it fall the remaining three feet because we couldn't reach. It smacked against the ground with a wet sound, and I winced.

Andy and I stood, then Maya lit the torch. I moved back to the front of the crowd, standing next to some guy I didn't know. He shuffled away from me slightly with a disgusted look on his face, and I just rolled my eyes.

"We are gathered here at the final resting place of Colin Moriarty, whose essence shall bask in Atom's glory for eternity, now that he has left us for the Beyond." His wife stood next to him, and he bowed his head. "Does anyone have any words to say for this soul?"

We were all quiet. I almost felt compelled to say something, but kept quiet. Why was I feeling so sentimental about him? I should've said, "Good riddance," but I couldn't bring myself to even think it in my head. I wondered what Nova was thinking, and what she would've wanted to say. Maybe she came up with a blank like me.

"Anyone?" Cromwell repeated. We all stayed quiet. Moriarty was everything and nothing in this place.

"Gentlemen, if you would, please," Cromwell said, motioning to Walter, Rag, and Doc Church. They grabbed the shovels, and Lucy stepped forward to take the fourth, insisting to help. As they started to dig into the pile of dirt by the grave and pour in back in, Andy started to talk to me in hushed tones.

"Thank God he's dead, huh? Now I can get on with my business, and you can get back to Underworld."

I gave him a sidelong glance. "Huh."

"So, listen, I don't know what Nova plans on doing, but you tell her not to keep the business going," Andy said. "Far as I'm concerned, all of Moriarty's property belongs to me now, so I don't want to have to deal with some whore when collecting what's mine. There're a few caps in it for you. Got a deal?"

It was probably his snide comment that made me realize I didn't really want to go home. I spent fifteen years hating this hell hole, feeling like I was trapped in it, but once the fasteners holding me down had been taken off, I realized I didn't want to leave. I'd made a home out of this place. _Nova_ made a home out of the place for me. And as much as I missed other ghouls, as much as I missed Carol and her stupid girlfriend and their cooking, I realized that just thinking of leaving Nova behind made me miss her more.

I slowly turned to him, my face twisting into a grimace. Luckily for me, a few people from the church were singing a hymn and the sound of dirt pouring down on Moriarty's tarp was enough to drown out what I said next.

"I've never said this aloud to anyone before, but I never met a real piece of shit like you until now, either." I looked him hard in the eyes, and he glared back, a bit of surprise riling in his features. "Go fuck yourself."

The look on his face was priceless, like I'd actually reached down and yanked his dick off. I could feel him raging in his spot, and I anticipated the feel of his hands around my neck, but he did nothing.

"_Gob's_ is going to stay in business, and you're never going to talk about her like that again."

Apparently my balls showed up in intervals, and damn, was I ever happy they reared their ugly heads then. Andy stared at me viciously for a second, trying to burn holes into my skull, then he walked away. I watched him go, then let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my hands tingled, like I'd just slapped him in front of everyone. I felt like a superhero.

Then I felt someone grab my hand from beside me, and I turned to see Nova standing there. She was looking at the grave, but there was a ghost of a smile on her lips, and she linked her fingers with mine.

I watched her for a while, thinking on just how much I needed her and cared for her, then I looked back at the grave. They were almost done filling it.

_Rest in peace, Moriarty_.

* * *

After the funeral, Hoff talked with us. He'd been at Church's for a bullet graze, and he explained everything that had happened.

Apparently, John ("That Dick" Hoff called him) and Butch glared each other down for an hour or so. Then John downed his scotch, and muttered: "I'm going back." He got off his stool, started marching toward the door, and then Butch drew a 10mm.

Butch's shot missed, grazing Hoff's shoulder. Hoff had stopped there, but we beat the rest of the story out of him. Not literally, but we were all like a bunch of kids gathered 'round for story time or something. So Hoff went on, describing how he ducked and bolted out of the saloon. As he passed John by the door, the kid drew his shotgun (which was a combat model—a pretty good upgrade from his small shaved-off gun) and took a shot at Butch. He heard Jericho scream (which we put two and two together and decided that was when his shoulder was shot off) and his assault rifle went off, probably squeezing a few shots by accident. He looked back to see Butch shooting at John, then Colin came out from the back room with his own pistol in hand, taking aim at Butch. John swung himself in a drunken stupor and fired at him.

That was the last he saw before he slammed into the railing outside and tried to race away, heading towards Billy's house. Butch came stumbling out a second later, clutching his shoulder or his chest or something while heading in the opposite direction from Hoff. John went after him, and not too long after that, people started to come out of their houses and see what happened while he ran for the clinic. And that was it. John had killed Colin.

I felt a little shaky after he told us, and I just excused myself without actually saying anything and headed back to the saloon. I don't know why I was so bothered. No, I guess I do—I just don't want to believe it so much. Colin was the closest thing I had to a brother, or a dad—grandpa, even. As much of a fucking torturer he was to me my entire life, I felt like my only real family had died. When it came down to the nitty-gritty, that's really what had happened. I got inside, and locked the door behind me before I rested my back against it. I closed my eyes and tried taking a deep breath, but it came out all sloppy.

When I opened them again, I looked over the bar, realizing it was the cleanest it'd been in a long time, and I felt a little reassurance knowing that it all didn't end with Colin. I might've felt that I'd hit the end of the line with all the whoring, but when that life was swept up from under my feet, I crashed hard. When I heard Gob tell Andy off, when I heard him say business was booming... it was easier than I thought to pick myself up again and brush myself off, because I knew I had him there, standing next to me. I wasn't as alone as I thought I was. As a whore, I spent a lot of time entertaining men, but I'd never cared about somebody before. I spent my whole life blocking everything out to avoid the painful shit, so I'd never had the chance to feel anything else. And he was always there for me. He was the one holding the light in the dark for me ever since I trapped myself here.

Gob was probably the only person in the world who cared about me. Ever. _Loved_ me, even. Just because... just because he was a ghoul made it hard for me to really see him, made it hard for anyone to. But in a world this shitty, he really was the most beautiful person I knew. I hate how _mooshy_ that sounds. But whenever I thought about Gob, that's how he made me feel. I couldn't imagine having Colin shot and killed without Gob as an anchor to hold on to.

And, the hardest part to grasp of all was the fact that I didn't have to be a whore anymore.

The doorknob jiggled behind me, and I sighed, kicking the door with my heel. "We're closed. Piss off."

It was quiet for a second, and then Gob said: "Nova, its me. Let me in."

"Oh!" I gasped, then spun around to unlock the door and open it for him. He squinted at me from the sunlight outside, then came in and closed the door.

"You all right?" he asked me, looking me over. I nodded, running my hands through my hair briefly. My eyes fluttered between his and the ground.

"You just blew off so quickly that I thought—well... I don't know. You're okay, though?"

"Yeah, thanks, Gobbie."

"Okay," he muttered, looking to the ground. He swallowed, his throat working while he forced himself to talk. "About that thing with Andy—"

"I heard," I interrupted, looking up at him. "I heard every word, Gob. Did you mean it?"

Without meeting my eyes, he nodded. "I'm just not so sure I can fend for myself if he comes for some blood."

"That's no problem," I said, shrugging. He looked at me quizzically. "Gob, we've got caps coming out of our asses and at least a dozen guys with guns we can hire to keep us company. Jericho would be a pretty good guy to have around."

"Jericho?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"But he... I... you...?"

"Oh, come on," I said, knowing he was getting at our not so friendly relationship that had formed lately. "That's just Jericho. He lets his temper get the best of him all the time. Besides, this would be strictly business. It's not like we have to give him cookies and invite him over for drinking games."

"That's not what I meant," Gob said softly. "He... loves you."

My eyes drifted to his face like they were pulled by magnets. I wanted to say something, but it all got caught in my throat. What was he really saying?

When his face fell by the smallest bit, I knew. "I don't love Jericho, Gob. You should know that. You've heard me turn him down countless times, haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"Jericho might protect us from Andy," he said, "but who'd protect you from him?"

I felt warm as a smile spread across my face, me barely being able to hold it in. "I know someone else who loves me, too," I said sweetly. It sounded weird without that seductive tone I put behind it for the past five years, but it was easy to do when talking to him. "Don't you?"

He looked down at me, a mix of fear and excitement on his face. He finally mumbled: "Yeah."

My eyelids fluttered, and I tried to pass it off as me blinking off an eyelash, but I think he saw what was really there. I felt my throat swelling shut and my eyes burning up, and I held my breath, willing myself so hard not to cry in front of him again so help me God—

"Thank you," I whispered shakily. Then he wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on top of my head. I pursed my lips against his shirt, feeling the words build up in my throat; for some reason, I felt like I was standing over a cliff, just thinking about saying them. I squeezed my eyes shut, then jumped in. "I love you too, Gob."

We stood like that for I don't know how long, and I could feel him smiling the whole time. Being there in his arms, I knew I was home.

We eventually pulled away and got to work around the saloon, cleaning things up, changing things, backing up the files on Colin's computer. He had a lot of dirt on everyone in town, and we figured we'd better keep it from the rest of town. Knowing the kind of temper most of those people had, we'd figure someone would catch wind and start shooting bullets off like no tomorrow. But, of course, we didn't want to delete it all completely; in our line of business, leverage was everything.

We went out looking for Rag after everything was done. In all honesty, we really didn't care if he came back or not; if he was smart, he would've skipped town and headed off towards his own horizon, but we found him kicking around the church by the bomb at the center of town. When he saw us, he started blubbering like a baby, like we were gonna murder him were he stood. After a couple minutes of calming him down, we asked him if he was coming back. He said he would without hesitating, but Gob and I were a little disappointed. I could've gone on living without having to see him everyday. But he didn't come back for a couple of days, which was a pretty big relief for the both of us.

After that, we went to ask Jericho if he'd act as a merc for us at the saloon. "You, fuckface, get outta here for a second."

"Jericho—" I started sharply, glaring him down, but he waved me off.

"I wanna talk to the lady in private. Wait outside, will ya?"

Gob didn't say anything, but he left the room quietly. We were in Jericho's one room house, so there wasn't anywhere else to go. Actually, if it were up to me, Jericho and I would go outside to talk. It fucking _reeked _in that place.

"Listen," Jericho said, stepping closer to me and bowing his head over mine. "That old bastard ain't here anymore. You don't have to bunk yourself up with that zombie. You could leave." He shrugged, looking at me with hopeful eyes. "You could come stay with me."

I rolled my eyes, but I ducked my head so he wouldn't see it, just in case he got the urge to hit me for it. We'd had this conversation so many times over the past five years, and it was always the same. But now he had a hint of hope in his voice knowing that it would be more probable that I'd agree. And I knew it was true; he would take care of me. Sure, he'd hit me once or twice, but what guy hadn't? He'd make sure I wouldn't have to work, he'd make sure I was safe, comfortable, happy... but Jericho didn't love me. He thought he did, but I don't think Jericho's capable of loving anybody, never was. I looked up at him, trying to be as gentle looking as possible.

"Look, Jericho... you're right, Colin isn't... around, and I don't have to be the town bicycle anymore. But I've got a new job now. I want it to be secure, and you're the best man for the job." I looked at him sadly, because even though I didn't think he loved me, I knew he'd be hurt just a little bit by me. "Let's keep it strictly business. Just like before. Okay?"

He cocked his head like a confused dog, then frowned. "There isn't some other guy, is there?"

My heart skipped a beat. I'd never thought of it like that before. Gob _was_ another guy. I was... seeing him? We were an item? It sounded off to me. The real kicker was that there'd never been a guy. I guess in layman's terms, Gob was my first "boyfriend".

With that revelation kicking around in my brain, my face fell more. It wasn't that I wanted to hide the fact that I'd thought of Gob romantically out of shame ("Ew, a ghoul, are you serious?"); I wanted to keep Gob a secret because I knew it wouldn't sit well with anyone ("Ew, a ghoul, are you serious? I'm gonna go kick his ass!").

"No," I choked, but it'd been too long. I could tell Jericho suspected that I was lying, but then I pulled my old tactics and put on that sly smile that no man could doubt. "No, honey, there ain't no other guy. But I'm not the kind of girl that needs one." That was a lie. It might've been true before, but now that had all changed. _I'd_ changed. But Jericho didn't know that. Megaton didn't know that. The town knew tough-as-nails Nova, but Gob was the only one who knew Nancy.

"Yeah... you always were the tough one," Jericho snickered, then nodded. I could tell he was actually sad about me turning him down again in that moment of truth, but he was trying to hide it. "A'right, I'll come meet you tomorrow morning. When's opening?"

"Be there at nine," I said. "We're pushing back opening. Might help with the binge drinking problem we've been having with most of the Wasters."

"Okay. See you then," he said. He bent down to give me a kiss on the cheek, and this time I let him. I wasn't totally cold hearted to destroy every last bit of dignity a man had. I knew it was harmless, anyway, and I knew it made us both feel better about things.

"Take care of yourself, hon," I said, leaving his stinking shit-hole house. He gave me a cocky grin in return.

When I got outside, I looked for Gob, then caught his eyes. He was grinning at me.

"Thanks, Nova," he said quietly. I knew he'd heard everything.

"You're welcome," I replied with a small smile.

That night, we had the Salisbury steaks we missed out on a couple days before. It tasted pretty good—I hadn't had one of them in a long time. We were relatively quiet, but I could feel the pressure pushing down on us from what Gob wanted to say. I sat there quietly, waiting for him to say whatever it was he needed to say himself, and just before we finished our steaks, he finally said it.

"What do you think happened to John?"

There was more behind that question—it was more like he was asking me if I cared what happened to him. I shrugged, shook my head gently, then said: "I dunno."

"I wonder if he'll show his face here," Gob said, stabbing his fork absentmindedly into his slab of meat. "I don't know what I'd do. If I tried to kill him, he'd probably kill me first. But I wouldn't just stand here and let him in... well, knowing me, I probably would just stand here and let him in."

"I wouldn't say that," I answered, grinning at him. "After what you pulled with Andy, I'd say you could do anything."

"Yeah, well... courage comes and goes as it likes," he said, taking a bite of his steak. I could see his jaw muscles working as he chewed it. I watched him, not to be rude, but because I was surprised to find that I _liked_ how it looked. It was different... it was _neat_. "Well, Jericho'll be here to take care of him, so I won't have to worry, I guess."

"Yeah," I sighed. I didn't want to think of John coming back. As much as I hated him, as much as he scared me, I could still feel that desire rolling around in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't make it go away. No matter how much Gob showered me with love and tender care, John would always be that man who could make any girl he touched turn to gold, and I'd always remember it. That being said, you probably wouldn't believe it if I told you I wasn't a sexual person. At all. I felt I could go my whole life without having sex again (which, considering my future with Gob, would've worked out well for the both of us), but someone could tell you they weren't into Psycho at all, and once they shoot up once, that hunger would always be there for more. John was my perfect drug, and I loved it and loathed it. I tried to bury it.

We finished off the steaks without saying anything else, then we washed the dishes together. The water was full of rads, of course, so Gob washed while I dried, and once we put them away, we sat down, sitting in the quiet. So quiet it was loud.

"I never imagined this happening," Gob said. "I couldn't ever picture this place being closed. I couldn't imagine not working."

"Me, neither," I said. "Do you think we'll be able to handle it?"

"I don't know... I'd like to think so," he said, nodding along. He was staring off into space. "But I feel like I'm tightrope walking on a wire over a ten-thousand foot drop."

"That sums it up," I agreed, chuckling a bit. "But we can improvise. Besides, the only enemy we've got to worry about is Andy. Even though you're a ghoul, I'm sure most of this town is willing to stand up for you, even though they wouldn't admit it."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"Huh," he said, surprised. "That's kind of a nice thought."

When we fell silent again, I looked towards the stairs, then got up off my stool. "I think I'll head to bed. I'm pretty tired."

"Yeah," Gob said. "We've had a long two days."

We both climbed the stairs quietly, and when I got to the renting room, I stopped, looking over the bed. It was at least ten times more comfortable than my own bed, and I couldn't let all that comfort go to waste, now that I wasn't working in it....

"I think I've picked a new room," I said, looking at Gob. He stared back at me, nodding slightly.

"Okay."

We stared at each other for a while, and then he said, "Good night," and walked away down the hall. I looked at him as he escaped to his little hole in the wall, and I scowled.

"Gob," I said, stopping him in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, then turned towards me. "I think I've picked _our_ new room."

He shuffled his feet a little, looking between the open door to the room and me. "You sure?"

"Oh my God," I said, laughing. "No, I'm gonna make you sleep in your own room with your own shitty mattress while I hog all the luxury." I looked at the bed, then at him.

"It's an awfully big bed for just one person..."

"I..."

"I meant what I said, Gob," I said gently. "Everything I've said to you, I mean it. Besides, it's not like we haven't slept together before."

He smiled a bit, then looked away shyly. "Okay."

He came back towards me, and I led him into the room. I closed the door behind me, and I almost locked it out of habit. When I looked back at him, he was standing there, like he was waiting for instructions.

"Which side are you?" I asked.

"Which what?"

"What side do you like to sleep on?"

He looked at the bed, then at me. "I don't know."

"Well, I like the right side," I said, moving towards it, "so that settles it."

I sat down on the bed, and I started to take off my boots. I had that feeling like I was going back to work, but I smiled to myself as I realized that I'd retired. That stuff was all behind me.

I felt him settle on the bed timidly, then I heard him take his boots off, too. I took off my gloves, peeled off my stockings, and sighed as I slipped into the bed, reveling in the feeling of freedom. I wiggled my toes under the sheets, and wiggled in as I got comfortable. I'd _always_ wanted to do that, but I obviously couldn't do that in front of customers. I peeked over at Gob, and he was still gathering the will power to lay down.

"I'm not gonna bite," I said, reaching over and touching his back. "What's the matter?"

"I... um..." he mumbled, keeping his back to me. Then he muttered something under his breath.

"What?" I said, sliding closer. "Come on, lay down with me. Please?"

He muttered the same thing again, and I gave a frustrated sigh.

"I can't hear you, Gob. Speak up."

His head looked all around the room, still keeping his back to me, then whispered: "I can't tell you."

I propped myself up on my elbow, looking at Gob's back. "I don't care what your problem is. Just lay down."

He took a deep breath, then nodded. I slid back so that he could lay down, and he kept himself as far away from me as possible, lying stiff as a board. I inched closer to him, and he watched me out of the corner of his eye, swallowing like he was nervous I'd pounce on him and rip him to shreds. When I rested my hand on his chest to get comfortable, he flinched, and I sighed loudly.

"What's _wrong_?" I said, slapping the pillow next to him. "Why're you treating me like a radroach all the sudden?"

He looked at me with wide eyes, then shook his head. "No, no, Nova, that's not it."

"Then what?"

"I...."

"What?!"

He slowly reached up for my hand, then guided it down. He closed his eyes and swallowed again, and I almost gasped when he brought it to his crotch. I had the instinct to pull away—not because I was disgusted, but because I was so caught of guard. When my hand rested there, though, I did gasp. He let me go, but I didn't pull away.

"Gob... I thought..." I stammered, looking at him. He was looking everywhere but at me, his face drawn like he was ten degrees too hot. "I thought you said...."

"You know... from time to time, it does what it wants to...."

I felt like I'd just found out the biggest secret in the Wastes, and I couldn't get my head around it. After a second, after it fully sank in, I giggled. His eyes flickered to me, maybe just to make sure I wasn't mocking him, then he looked away again.

The night before when I went to kiss him, I felt a little weird, because I realized it was my first kiss. I didn't really think about it, but it really had never happened. Not even when I was a teenager. I was gangly and awkward looking, so I wasn't too popular with the boys. Even after I came to Megaton and started prostituting myself out, some guys tried to kiss me, but they never succeeded. My first kiss was with a guy who was half-rotten, and he happened to be the first guy I ever loved. I almost felt like a virgin, all nervous and tingly, and after a minute of quiet, I went to kiss him again, and I started to move my hand.

He groaned against my lips—it was a choked sound, catching in his throat like he was surprised. But it was different from any sound I'd ever heard—not even John expressed any interest in sex, as good as he was. When Gob reached up and grabbed my neck gently, I felt the same kind of rush John had given me, and I moaned out of surprise, too. As much as I cared about Gob, I never thought he'd be able to make me feel like that.

I parted my lips a little, and tried touching my tongue to his lips. He opened his mouth, and then to my surprise, he pulled me in and made the kiss deeper. I made another noise, feeling that rush again. All this time, I'd been missing out on this? Part of me wished I'd been kissed sooner, but another part of me was glad I hadn't; Gob's hands went up into my hair, and I melted against him.

After a minute, he caught me off guard again by pushing me over onto my back and resting on top of me. I thought I'd have to take the wheel for the entire show—even though I never really thought something like this would happen—but _damn_ was I ever glad he got his bravery back and took over. I suppose I was really in to the guy taking over for me. He stopped kissing me (which I didn't have much of a background to base off of, but I thought he was a pretty good kisser), then just looked at me, panting.

I smiled back, then shifted to pull my panties down. He moved out of the way to watch me pull them off, then he watched me closely for a moment before climbing back on top of me.

"Nancy," he whispered. I smiled back.


	12. Chapter 12

_Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story._

_All right, the jig is up. I based this story out of all the NPC conversations and interactions that range from "Oh, they say that all the time," to "OMG WHAT?" which you can view and giggle over on the Gob or Nova page in the Fallout wiki._

_Thanks again to Dee Troit for being my beta, and thanks to those of you who read this story. I hope you enjoyed it._

Chapter Twelve

"Are you awake yet?" he asked.

"Um-hm."

"Should we go get the bar ready?"

"Nn-nn."

I was pretty comfy where I was, and I wasn't about to get up so that I could let a bunch of drunkards ruin my day. I wanted to stay right where I was, because it was actually pretty nice to just rest my head on Gob's chest. He was pleasantly warm, and actually pretty cushy. I smiled a bit when I thought that, and I nestled in closer to him.

"'Cause, you know, it's maybe eight thirty or so. Jericho'll be here soon."

"Exactly. _Soon_." I turned my head up to look at him, and he looked down at me. "Am I that repulsive that you want so badly to get away from me?" I teased.

He squirmed under me. "No," he said shyly.

"Then let's relax," I said, laying my head back down. "Besides, even if he is here, Jericho can wait outside. Maybe we'll get Moira to make him a key. What do you think about that?"

"Oh," he mumbled dishearteningly, and I giggled against him.

"Yeah, maybe not."

We finally got up twenty minutes later after mindless chatter, then went down to the bar to open her up. Jericho wasn't there yet (which figures; he's never been the punctual type) and there was no line-up for whiskey and Nuka-Colas, so we took our time setting up the place. It felt weird watching Gob do his routine, knowing that nobody was watching over his shoulder, waiting for him to make a mistake. I think we both felt a little uneasy about it, like we were walking on glass with bare feet, even though it was the exact opposite. But once we got through it, I doubted either of us minded the feeling. Sorry, Colin.

No-one had come by nine-thirty. Not even Jericho. Oh well, figured nobody would be blowing fire out of their ass just to come sit at our bar, knowing full well the reputation we had for collecting bodies. They'd come back soon enough. But as Gob drummed his fingers on the counter, I knew he was anxious to get things rolling, just so he wouldn't have to feel nervous anymore.

"Gob, why don't you go to Moira's and see her about that sign?" I suggested. "I'm sure she's got the parts together by now."

"Yeah, sure," he said, but it didn't really sound like he was keen on the idea. Better to get him out of the bar than keep him stewing in it, I supposed. Hopefully by the time he got back, we'd have customers to care for, instead of thinking on ghosts we didn't need to be.

Gob went into the back office and took a big satchel full of caps. When he passed me he stopped, then gave me this look that was almost puppy-eyed. I laughed at him playfully before I stood up and kissed him on the cheek. "You big ol' sop, get back to work."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, mocking a salute, then headed out the door. I watched him go, then sat myself down on the stool again. I was pretty sure he'd be gone for a while, and I groaned at the idea of watching the rust collect on the walls while waiting for him to come back. So I flipped on the radio, just like he would've done, and listened to the static. It had been at least a month now. I wondered when they'd get the signal back on.

I could faintly hear Billie Holiday underneath all the fuzz, and I hummed along, watching the old relic with a bit of boredom, like I was hoping it'd grow two legs and dance around for me. Just then, the door opened, and I turned on my stool, putting on a grin.

"Hey, welcome to _Gob's_, we—"

A Wastelander walked through the door. Well, he was a Wastelander _now_, from the looks of him. He was covered in spatters of blood and dirt, and he was more haggard looking than I ever imagined him to be.

"Nova," he whispered roughly.

Not the god I thought he used to be. Just a ruined Wastelander, like everyone else.

"My God," I muttered, standing up off my stool. "The hell are you doing here?"

"I need someone to talk to," he said weakly, as if his voice was strained from hours of crying. I scoffed, ignoring it.

"How the fuck did you come in the front gates without being shot?" I snapped. "There are a lot of people who'd be willing to see your head on a plate, you know."

"I know."

I opened my mouth to keep drilling at him, but I stopped. _You're here to finish the job, huh? Well, here I am! Blow me apart like you did Colin, you fuck!_ The words came out as a whoosh of air. I was too stunned to attack him. Despite what he'd done, I was still a little soft for him. And seeing him broken down like he was... I was a little freaked out. Either he _was_ here to kill me, or he'd been through Hell enough times to be worn paper thin and want to come here to...

"Talk?"

"Yes. Please."

I'd never have expected that. "What makes you think I'll give you the time?" I forced back, trying to growl at him but failing. "The _shit_ you've done here?"

He reached for his belt, still looking at me, and pulled out a handful of caps from his bag.

"I don't want your caps," I said angrily, "I want you out."

"Nova," he said so softly, it was almost silent. His voice trembled as he said: "Do this one last thing for me. Please."

I'd heard the sound of men's voices at their wit's end—even Jericho had been close to tears around me once or twice. All of them depressed about the state of the world, their place in it, contemplating suicide, or murder, or both. But what I heard in that kid's voice was something that went beyond all that. It scared me.

We stared at each other for too long, him breaking me down with his weak, watery, blue-eyed gaze. I gave in.

"All right."

"In the room?"

"I don't do that anymore, honey."

"I know. I just... not where someone can walk in on us."

I wanted to chew him out and spit him up some more, but all I could manage was a nod. "Okay," I muttered after a few seconds.

We both stood still, watching each other. I was stuck between expecting him to make a move and kill me and being so... _pathetic_ looking. I suddenly realized that whatever it was that had made him come all the way back down to Megaton to simply just talk to me must've been worth my time. I almost felt sorry for him.

I was the first one to move towards the stairs, and he waited until I was on the first step to follow me. Each step I took I did slowly, like I was expecting it to be my last before—_BANG—_there goes my head. But he didn't shoot at me, and my head didn't explode. He kept climbing up after me, and when I got to the door of the room, I stood aside, letting him go in first. His head was low and his body hung like it weighed too much for him to carry anymore; if he tripped and fell he'd break apart into a million pieces.

When he got into the room, I followed him in and closed the door. I turned to see him sink down onto the bed, still hung heavy like a ruined rag-doll. I moved to sit next to him hesitantly, still weirded out by the whole situation, by my problem deciding whether or not to go alert the town or sit there and console the poor bastard murdering cocksucker—

"The night I..." he trailed off. He didn't need to clarify what night he was talking about. "Butch was shot. I don't know if it was me or Jericho... but it was probably me."

He slipped his gloves off and reached up to rub his face. His hands were shaking. "Butch collapsed somewhere between Megaton and the vault. I was chasing after him, ready to kill— until I realized he was already dying—"

His voice broke on the last word, but he hissed sharply, forcing himself not to crumble, or whatever it was he was going to do. I watched him closely, still trying to read the situation, still trying to figure out just what the fuck was going on and what it is John was really plotting.

"I've killed a lot of people," he said, letting his hands slide off his face, "but I've never seen them... _die_ before."

I watched him, seeing how his blank expression was really his reaction to life punching him in the face. "When I went to kill him, I saw him. We were enemies our whole lives, and I'd never really knew him before. He told me that I had to go back, and he did it clutching at me desperately, like I was his only hope in the world, and I... it made me start to realize something."

He stayed quiet, but I didn't dare say anything. I didn't even want to ask him what; I decided just to listen.

"It started to go downhill with that woman who was kept in Simms's house," he said. "I went to see her, ask her questions about who she was and what she was doing—trying to learn more about the Wasteland, you see. She told me she wouldn't talk until I gave her some Psycho, so... I gave her more than she needed, and she died before I learned anything. I left her, deciding I would play her death like I did the others—it was all a game to me, everything was just a suspension of reality. When I left the vault, I went into my own fantasy world where nothing had consequences, and I...."

"So, what stories were true then?" I interjected. "You the one who took down Paradise Falls single-handedly?"

"Paradise Falls," he started with a dry laugh. "They were all bad people, but they got theirs. Some people thought it was me. I suppose it was partly true, but no-one would have known that. I only opened the doors for someone else to get their revenge, and all of them... I was almost proud of it.

"I was such a _child_," he hissed sharply. "I never once felt any remorse or responsibility for my actions; I was untouchable, I was a god—above everyone else—and I could do with my world what I wanted. Yes, a lot of rumours started to spread about me—including that one. Some were true, some false. I was becoming a legend, and it didn't matter if I'd committed the act—I fed off of it."

He turned to me, and I could see there were tears in his eyes. I felt like I'd been snared by barbed wire then, trapped and doomed. He freaked me out. "Going back to Vault 101 made me realize what had happened to me, how easily I let myself go. Because, even with my sterling reputation with heroism—or lack thereof—" his voice started to shake, "I wasn't able to save any of them. Not even Amata."

I finally started to understand the situation, and a little gasp ran past my lips. "A lot of them died because of me, and I've never really realized until now just how much I _fucked up_ for everyone here. All because I'd spent my life trying so hard to be the antithesis of what my father was.

"And Nova, after all that's happened, you're the closest thing to a friend anymore, and you're the only person that I can confess to. That won't clear my slate, clean my hands... but I can't go on without saying I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry."

This was the last thing on my list of Expected Events Today, and I was far too shocked to say anything to him. My jaw worked as I tried to think of something to tell him, but I couldn't think of anything. He was still watching me, and I couldn't tell if he expected me to say something, needed me to say something, wanted me to say something, or if he was actually considering murdering me to add my name to his little list, too.

"John...?"

He laughed a little, looking me over with a watered-down grin. "I suppose we've never been properly introduced. It's a bad habit of mine not to leave my name; I'm so used to everyone knowing me, I suppose—small-knit community in the vault." He held a hand out to me. "Adam."

"Adam," I said, thinking it sounded strange. Too normal, too human. I looked at his hand, then took it a little awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you," he muttered, trying to sound cheerful. I flashed a little amused grin before it disappeared just as quickly. I was still trying to sort out everything he was telling me, let alone the fact that he was here pouring his heart out to _me_. I let go of his hand and watched him. He turned away from me.

"The people wanting to leave the vault and the older ones wishing to maintain order and discipline pitted themselves against each other, and when thing became too uncertain between the small war, the Overseer instructed an attack against the rebels. Amata was leading them. And she... was the only person I cared about my entire life. When I found out they'd killed her, I found out just what kind of person I'd become without her. I realized that Butch was right: I was at fault for their misfortune, along with the Wasteland's blunders that I was involved in. I... to say this bluntly, I fucked up.

"I'm going to go after my father, see if he's still alive somewhere," he said, nodding to himself, affirming it. "And I won't ever come back here, Nova. I won't ever see you again. I promise."

Part of me wanted to be a little comforting to him—that was probably my old career habits kicking in. But I somehow knew that would be against the point he was trying to make. He didn't want sympathy. "How do you think you'll get out of here without being seen? Someone's bound to shoot you down as you go."

"I know. Which is why I intend to leave the way I came in."

He pulled this thing from his belt, which I hadn't realized he was wearing before, and he attached it to his wrist. I looked at it, then looked at him, trying to figure out just what the hell he was doing (a _watch_ is gonna save you?) when he pressed something, then looked to me.

"Thank you, Nova. It was a pleasure."

Then he disappeared.

"Holy shit!" I shouted, jumping up off the bed. I watched the spot where he was, absorbing the fact that he'd just went up into nothing right in front of me, when I saw a little bit of movement. The bed shifted up from where he was sitting, and then I heard his footsteps across the floor. The door opened, and then it closed.

I watched the door for a little while, piecing every little thing together, letting it click into place. And the funny thing? I woke up that morning hating John—Adam, I mean—in the very back of my mind, and after he'd come and told me a story of all the reasons why I hated him, I found that I couldn't despise the guy anymore. It felt weird. I _tried_ to hate him, but it didn't work out that way.

When I went back downstairs, Jericho was standing there, arms crossed over his chest. "What the fuck were you doing up there?"

I stared at him, dumbstruck, then shook my head. "I was looking for something."

"Well, at least no assholes came in looking for a drink. I don't pour drinks, I just drink 'em. Oh, speaking of drinks, you mind if I have a bit of whiskey here and there during my shifts? I could use a pick-me-up. You know, numb the pain in the shoulder."

"Sure, whatever, Jericho." I was still dazed and confused from the entire encounter with the kid that I couldn't really keep up with, so I probably sounded ditsy and far-off to Jericho. I probably didn't even fully register what he'd said.

I glanced at the front door of the saloon, wondering where he'd gone, while I moved to the bar to turn the radio off.

I never saw him again. No-one in Megaton did. And, to be honest, I kind of regret it. I would have wanted to thank him.

* * *

Moira and I put up the new sign after I went to meet her. It took us the better part of an hour, five hundred caps, and a promise that I'd come over to her shop so that she could poke and prod me for a while to do some experiments. I agreed under the condition that none of her experiments would dismember me or screw up more of what was already screwed up, and she agreed. She sounded a little disappointed, though.

_Gob's_ _Saloon_. I stared at the thing for what seemed like hours, still not believing it all. It looked a little shabby, but Moira said she'd patch it up later, once she found some better parts. It didn't matter how run-down the sign was, because it was mine, and this really was happening. _My_ saloon. Of all the things on my list that I'd never consider happening in my sorry lifetime, this was at the top.

We had one customer the entire day. It was a little disappointing, but a little relaxing at the same time. We'd never had so much free time to just screw around and talk. The three of us, even. Jericho didn't once make a remark about me being a zombie or how he'd like to pummel my face in, and I suppose it was because he realized I was sort of his boss now. I knew he'd never admit it, he'd always hold that title for Nova and Nova alone, but I was okay with that. We all knew deep down that I could fire him, and I had a high off of that idea for a really, really long time.

In the evening, Leo and Jenny walked in the door. Jericho lifted his hand to his assault rifle, and Nova rushed to back him off. I guess he still needed some training on who and who not to shoot.

"Evening," I said.

"Hey, Gob," Leo said a little dully, moving up the the bar. "Listen, Jenny and me are here to do some discussion about business in town on behalf of our brother. We didn't think he'd be in any condition to do any negotiations with you, so he agreed to let us come talk to you."

_To talk to _me. "Okay," I replied, hiding the excitement and uneasiness that was boiling under the surface. I was an important figure in this town now, ghoul or not, but I wasn't so sure I could live up to the title. I shuffled my feet a little, watching them both.

"We just want to clarify business, now that the saloon's yours. Want to know how things are going to run, you know." Leo scratched at his head, like some sorta unnatural twitch.

"I'm starting a hotel business," Nova said. We all looked to her. "Bedrooms are my thing, I guess. We're going to keep the bar, and a little bit of food service on the side. You guys can do whatever you want down there."

Leo fidgeted nervously, scratching at his shoulder a bit. "You sure?"

"Positive. All we want is a humble piece of business."

I was glad that Nova stepped up to do the talking, but I felt a little ashamed at the same time. I had to _say something. _So I took in a big gulp of air and said: "Moriarty's property is still ours. If Andy wants to buy any of it, he can come talk to us." _While Jericho's here pointing a gun in his face._

"Okay," Jenny said, but she sounded a little unsure of that. I was pretty certain that was Andy's biggest beef with us, and I wasn't about to give up to him that easily. Not while I had a bit of backing and a sense of self-esteem on the rise.

"So, you have any other questions, don't be afraid to come up and visit," Nova said forcefully. In other words: "Okay, get the fuck out now."

"Sure," Leo said, nodding. "See you later."

After they left, Nova shot me a bright smile. "Look at you, wily business man."

"Huh?"

"You're made of steel underneath all that, aren't ya?" she said, giving me bright eyes. "Standing up to those guys."

"Whatever. They come in here again, you just give me the word, Nova, and I'll shoot 'em dead."

"Not so fast, hon," Nova chastised, giving him a bit of a dirty look. "You won't be shooting anyone unless they're shooting us first."

He scoffed. "You're no fun."

I was a little scary to hear him say that, but we all chuckled a bit anyway. Victory number two for _Gob's_. Man, it felt great to think that.

So two weeks passed without anything exciting happening. People slowly started to come back, chatting amongst themselves about more rumours they'd heard. A lot about John went flying around all the time, and I was a little sick of hearing it. They were putting him on a pedestal he didn't deserve, and _man_ were the stories ridiculous. Acts of heroism and grandeur, but of course a bit of evil on the side, just to keep him constant. I just thought everyone was a little too worked up about him, and I just wished he'd up and disappear.

One night, as we were winding down to close, Jericho and Rag left (Rag moved out of the saloon, and he'd picked up sleeping at the common house) and it was just Nova and I cleaning up the saloon. We were quiet for a little while, but then she broke the quiet.

"Everyone's still talking about him." She picked up another glass and brought armfuls to the counter. "About John."

My spine tingled and my heart skipped a beat. Not her, too. She was still enchanted with him. "Oh," I said quietly. This wasn't a topic I was interested in getting to, especially not after letting myself think that things between me and her were going so well.

"He's done a lot of shit," she said, leaning on the counter in front of me, scratching at a black spot on the top, avoiding my eyes. "But... I can't help but think that he's the best thing that ever happened to me."

That did it. Dammit, I was a fool for letting myself believe for a second that things were getting better for me, that she actually _cared_ about me, and fucking shit bitch goddamn—

"If he had never come here, Colin would still be alive, and you..." she finally looked up to me, smiling a bit. "I never would have saw you. I wouldn't be as happy as I am now."

I watched her, kicking myself mentally. I really was a sensitive pushover. But who could blame me, looking the way I did? I never got ahead of myself just so I could avoid being rejected over and over like I had been for the better portion of my life, so I guess it was easy for me to jump to those conclusions that I really was worthless to everyone, especially her. To hear her say that, though, to say she was happy....

"Sorry," I muttered, and she recoiled, still smiling.

"For what?"

Oh, right, she couldn't hear what I was thinking inside my head. "I, uh...."

"How many times have I told you to _stop apologizing_ for everything?" she said, laughing. "What do you have to be sorry about? Making me happy? Is that such a bad thing to you?"

"No!" I shouted a little too loudly. "I, uh..." _Don't say it, Gob, do _not_ say "Sorry."_

"I've gotta wonder sometimes, just what is going on in there." She grinned and brushed a bit of hair from my forehead. I grinned back.

We looked at each other for a long time, me wondering what I ever did to deserve a girl like her, when she broke away, saying: "You know, sometimes I can hear music underneath the static if it's quiet. Let's see what's on...."

"_...lost all ambition for worldly acclaim..."_

Both of us jerked out of surprise. The transmission was completely clear. I felt my jaw drop and my eyes widen, and after the reality sank in, we both started laughing breathlessly, still shocked beyond belief.

"Holy _shit!_" Nova said, and I just laughed in response. She leaned over the counter and threw her arms around my neck, and I hugged her back. The radio was working. It felt like years since I heard music.

"_...And with your admission—" _

"I never thought I'd miss this damn thing," Nova said, pulling away from me. "We must have Lady Luck on our side."

"Yeah." I really did miss the radio. About a month ago, it was all my life was, it was the only thing I had to hang on to, the only escape door there was for me to take. But that had been a month ago, and a lot had happened in a month. I'd forgotten all about the radio, and I hardly noticed that it'd slipped from my mind over the days. Now I didn't need an escape from my life; the life I had now was the fantasy I'd always wanted but didn't dare dream of.

"_I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to start a flame in your heart..."_

We were watching each other again. It felt too good to be true when she looked at me like that. "You wanna dance?" she said, cupping her chin in one hand as she leaned on the counter and looked up at me.

I nodded, my smile growing. "Yeah."

I rounded the counter, and when I got close, she held her hand out for me to take. She snorted a little.

"Ma'am," I said, kissing the top of it. She laughed again, and then I took her hand while she put her other on my shoulder.We started a slow waltz, and I led her around in circles as the melody played out.

"This is nice," she said softly.

"Mhm."

I twirled her around slowly, and when she came back, she was beaming brightly. "I've always wanted to do that," she said.

"No-one's ever twirled you?"

"No-one's ever danced with me."

"Really?"

"Nn-nn."

"Well, you're a natural."

"Why, thank you."

"_...And that one is you, No other will do..."_

And, oddly enough, I thought that maybe that kid was capable of doing good after all.


End file.
